













































KJ* *\ 



° 

\V 

C. •* -i* 

A‘ 5 " •< ^ V s « 

* * 



& 

y 0 , I * A „ o, *., „ „ 

^ c“ N '^^ 0 . 

0 ^ 



° \ v ^ 




* C\ o 

0 K 0 ^ ^ 

< * « A 

.y- <X' /(A^'Ai*'' ^ \V * 

^ ^ z ,J ^ y “ 

*\> * a v j ' Ji v-J: a -v c A 

r ® 

* <*’ <- 


N (I 


* o. 


* *» 


</> 


* 

© 

^ O'* c b ^ ), 

, - _ . ^ *<*<>. ^ 8 ’ 

w, i ^ y x « J|lj||t : ^ ^ . A;^;yy ® </ ‘ 

o 17 77,1 * .A^’ <?» -* r c*5 

77 ^^ vl . y y <T* 1 ^ > 

0 > * V ' a * ^ «fc> 0 

° ^ *V ^ 

** > « 7^1& : ■'i o' 




0 


Pi 


* 


* r 



' ' y v '-. 


0 *>* < 0 ^ "o 

^*o,. 

** <3 C 3 » * 

% y 


•4 

w * <\ 

A 

V ^ ^ O 

v* k ->:• \ / Vi^ ^ 

C ^^SMk ' 'A, n't 


: d>%. 



V^'>>'-,% 


c> 


,y % 

v\ '!!/*,•> 




.0 N o ' ^ 

. <y * ' * o a 

r V 


S ' *G' 

,-P‘ v” ll ‘* 


* <\V <P_ - ' 

by ^ 

~ * . s 




VA 



* * 

x^ v 'V* 

^ 0 * 

- * « /> * * s p 4 « ' ’ 8 k ^ 

<\ ° b * &/t???^ + ?- ^ 

- ^ v* : ^ 


4 % »* k “V s » n %*'" 

** ,4 . t ^ N % °o 

IN ^ ^ 'i^w t>> , 

* o 0 


s^y/ n) w "* ,, ?s, v > * ~?r . <> 

o^ cK ✓ , 1 « o 0 c- *• N ^ 

* t ^ ^ * 'I u 0 ^ ^ 0 * • O \ V 

0,1 v > O * * '* > vO^ * * * 0 * V V’ v 

V # > jgjfc fMV' ^'u 

c. y>> 4 '£ ''" "■' •-' " aV W ° <V> <<. 31 

c^p ^ ° L y v * v ,>y (\\ *S\ o ^ *^<. ^ 


44 

s> <?, 


^ ,\y t/) ^ N^ji ^ O Cl' 

•* { ^y >y> * *> 

' 0 * * * A^ o M C V V ' * * S " 0 ^ U , V l 8 * ^ 

,# * C ^W V °o 0° .V v . jrT^.% * 

. ^ ^ 





O^* & r ^ h 

& " A •> A>J ^, . f II I ' ” Cfr s * * » *>. a N v p> 

v * AWA ° ,^' - 4 PM : 4 < 

2 ^4. \Wf* #*% : . 

0 N C ^ ^ 



4 , 4 ' ; 

4 V ^ V 

< 5 / ^ ^ ^ > 

c ° N c *, 4 b fP s' 




p°*. 


U v' - 4 ^-' cK- V 

\* s * * , "^- 0 N 0 




J > % °, 

v 1 6 a ^ ,‘V' c 

-^- ’ - 4 / / 


c /» 

C v *^/ 

^ 0 v v ^ 

C^ ”’ N - ^ 

/f t v S aO 

7 * <* s ^ -l ' 8 jt 

U rO V v" 


4 , 


^ 4 . >? 

(V 


x ^ > 

o o ^ 

\ 0 " G* 

“/,‘ 4 ',\ v V 
A ' 

^ o 




t 0NC,%j''**'VV'4S ”4 

* ^ ° ^ *mfl?fe 2 ,% aN k 

^ O0 \ Av 













■O 90 Cents 

Xovell’s International Series 


A Bitter Birthright 


BY 

MISS DORA RUSSELL 

Author ok “ A Strange Marriage,” “The Broken Seal,” “Jezebel’s 

Friend,” Etc., Etc. 


Authorised Edition 


NEW YORK 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 

SUCCESSORS TO 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 Worth Street, corner Mission Place 

Every work in this series is published by arrangement with the author. 


Issued Weekly. Annual Subscription, $15.00. December 9, 1890. 
Entered at New York Post Office as second-class matter. 



the celebrated 




The SOHMER PIANOS 
are used iu the fol- 
lowing Institutions : 
Convent of the Sacred 
Heart, 

Manhattanville, N. Y. 
N. Y. College of Music. 
V ogt’s Conservatory of 
Music. 

Arnold’s Conservatory 
of Music, Brooklyn. 
Philadelphia Conserv- 
atory of Music. 
Villa de Sales Convent, 
Long Island. 

N. Y. Normal Conserv- 
atory of Music. 
Villa Maria Convent, 
Montreal. 
Vassar College, 

Poughkeepsie 
And most all the lead- 
ing first-class theatres 
in New York & B’klyn. 



The Wonderful Bijou 
GrandOately patented, 
by SOHMER & CO., the 
Smallest Grand ever 
manufactured, length 
only 5 feet 6 in., has 
created a sensation 
among musicians and 
artists. The music lov- 
ing public will find itin 
their interest to call at 
the ware rooms of 
SOHMER & CO. and 
examine the various 
Styles of Grands, 
Uprights and Square 
Pianos. The original 
and beautiful designs 
and improvements in 
Grands and Uprights 
Pianos deserves special 
attention. 


Are at present tlie Most Popular and Preferred by tlie Leading Artists 

Nos. 149 to 155 East 14th St., New York. 


BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT WITH THE AUTHORS. 

LOVELL’S SERIES 

OF 

Foreign Literature. 


EDITED BY 

EDMUND GOSSE. 

THE CHOICEST WORKS OF FOREIGN LITERATURE ABLY 
TRANSLATED AND WELL BOUND. 

1. Joshua. By Georg Ebers, ..... 

2. Prose Dramas. Vol. I. Henrik Ibsen, 

3. In God’s Way. By Bjornstjerne Bjornson, 

4. The Two Brothers. By Guy de Maupassant, 

5. The Chief Justice. By Karl Emil Franzos, 

6. Prose Dramas. Vol. II. By Henrik Ibsen, . 

7. The Ace of Clubs. By Prince Lubomirski, 

8. Fantasy. By Matilde Serao. Tran lated by Henry Uarland, 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 

SUCCESSORS TO 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE 


50 

50 

50 

50 

SO 

50 

50 

5 ° 


■ 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT 








Xovell's Ifntentatfonal Series, 1R o. 144, 


A 

BITTER BIRTHRIGHT 


OR 

LADY GILMORE’S TEMPTATION 


BY 

MISS DORA RUSSELL 

AUTHOR OF 

“a strange marriage," “the broken seal," “jezebel’s friend,” 
ETC., ETC. 



.0 


zAuthori^ed Edition 



NEW YORK 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 

SUCCESSORS TO 


JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 




I50 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE 


A 


-V^V 

v 


Mr~ 


Copyright, 1890, 

BY 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY. 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, 

OR, 

LADY GILMORE’S TEMPTATION. 


CHAPTER I. 
mother’s help. 

A dreary day ; dreary within and without, as though 
the gray clouds wept over the little house, with the drawn 
blinds, where a widow and her children crouched together 
in the first dark hours of the knowledge of their bitter 
bereavement. 

The blow had fallen so swiftly, so suddenly, that the 
mother of the small group of mourners felt utterly over- 
whelmed and struck down. She had risen on this dull 
November morning, and looked out on the roadway before 
her modest suburban home, and watched the dead leaves 
swirling in circles as the wind swept them hither and 
thither ; and while her eyes followed their airy flights her 
thoughts had wandered vaguely on. Before the leaves 
fell again Robert would be with her ; Robert, her hus- 
band in India, for his regiment was expected to return to 
England early in the following year. 

Mrs. Loftus sighed thankfully ; what a comfort to have 
him near her once more, she was thinking ; to look again 
on his dear face. How surprised he would be to see 
Winny : Winny the two years old baby, whom she had 
brought home fourteen months ago, now grown to a 
lovely child of three. And Nancy — their handsome Nancy 
— how proud father would be of her. 

Still thinking of her husband and children, and with a 


8 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


(as the children called her) drew down the blinds with 
a sad heart, and the little group of mourners clung 
together in the semi-darkness, weeping and wailing for 
their dead, while the rain beat against the window-panes, 
and the wind sighed and moaned round the desolated 
home. 

The next few days were very miserable ones. Mrs. 
Loftus wandered about for the first two nights, unable to 
bear the burden of her anguish if she were still, and the 
consequences of this was that she took a chill, and was 
seized with congestion of the lungs, and the bodily pain 
perhaps helped to benumb at the time her great and last- 
ing sorrow. Her mother's illness at all events roused 
Nancy from her first deep grief. She had to look after 
everything now, for the doctor ordered that Mrs. Loftus 
was not to be disturbed, and Nancy had no other relation 
near to help her. 

The poor girl tried to be very brave, but it was a heavy 
task that she was forced to undertake. Her father's death 
not only was a great and terrible blow to them all, but it 
meant also loss of position and income, for Colonel Lof- 
tus had been able to save very little. 

Many kindly letters of sympathy came to the little 
house in the quiet suburb which Mrs. Loftus had taken 
for herself and her children to await her husband’s return. 
These letters were from the officers of Colonel Loftus’s 
regiment ; from their wives ; from the many friends and 
acquaintances he had made during his wanderings, were 
one and all couched in terms of the deepest and most affec- 
tionate regret for the genial, kindly man who was gone. 

“ Every soldier in the regiment feels he has lost a 
friend," wrote one ; “his untimely death has spread a 
universal gloom over us,” another had penned ; “ we feel 
most deeply for you all,” most truthfully affirmed a third. 

Nancy had to open these letters, read them, and answer 
them, while her mother lay weak and sometimes half- 
delirious upstairs. And little by little— first after a visit 
from her father’s lawyer, which was intended for her 
mother, but Mrs. Loftus was too ill to see him — Nancy be- 
gan to understand that they would be very poor ; that 
there was not, indeed, sufficient left to support them even 
in ordinary comfort. 

One of these letters of condolence mentioned their want 
of means plainly, though very kindly. This letter was 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


9 


from Lady Blenkensop, General Sir Charles Blenkensop’s 
wife, and both Lady Blenkensop and Sir Charles were old, 
intimate friends of Colonel and Mrs. Loftus. It was ad- 
dressed to Mrs. Loftus, but Nancy having by her mother’s 
wish opened it, she began to realize in full their unfor- 
tunate position. 

It commenced by expressing the true sorrow that the 
General and herself alike felt at the loss of “so kind and 
worthy a man as your dear husband and it went on 
in sympathizing terms to regret that Lady Blenkensop 
feared and had heard that Colonel Loftus having thus been 
cut off in the midst of his days, would have been unable 
to leave a sufficient provision for his family. 

“And now, my dear Mrs. Loftus,’' wrote this plain- 
spoken friend, “Ido trust that if either the General or 
myself can do anything to assist you in your troubles that 
you will not hesitate to apply to us. I have been think- 
ing about your eldest girl ; she is old enough to do so, 
and naturally will be most anxious to help her widowed 
mother, and my position here would, I am quite sure, 
enable me to procure her a good situation in one of the 
families around. When you write tell me what you think 
of this scheme. You will have more than enough to do 
to rear and educate the two younger children, and then 
your boy at school ! Nancy is a fine girl, and it is her duty 
now to endeavor to assist you, and I shall be glad to 
learn that she is willing to do so." 

As Nancy read these words her pretty face flushed and 
her breath came short. They were a shock and a reve- 
lation to her, for though she knew they would be poor, 
the idea of taking a situation had never once presented 
itself to her mind. 

‘‘Lady Blenkensop has no right to make such a sug- 
gestion/' she thought, lifting her head proudly ; but a min- 
ute later it fell. About the children she was thinking ; 
“and Bob at school — he must stay at school, and it costs 
so much." 

She could not consult her mother, for Mrs. Loftus' ill- 
ness had weakened her so terribly that Nancy had strict 
orders from the doctor not to say anything to her that 
could possibly disturb her. So after much thought Nancy 
at last decided to go down to the lawyer’s office who had 
called upon them after the news had arrived of Colonel 
Loftus' death, and who had more than hinted that he feared 


IO 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR, 


his late client’s affairs had not been left in a very prosper- 
ous condition. 

Nancy started on her expedition in an omnibus, byway 
of spending as little as she could, but got nervous and lost 
her way in the crowded city, and finally had to take 
refuge in a cab. When she reached Mr. Bayford’s offices 
she tremblingly sent up her card, and a few moments 
later was ushered into a well-furnished room, where a 
smiling, good-looking, middle-aged man rose to receive 
the frightened girl. 

This was Mr. Bayford himself, and as he had been a 
personal friend of Colonel Loftus, he now felt sincere pity 
for his family. His manner to Nancy was therefore very 
kind, but he had too much good sense to disguise the sad 
truth from her. 

“ It’s a most unfortunate case, Miss Loftus, I am sorry 
to tell you,” he said, in answer to Nancy’s timid inqui- 
ries concerning their means ; “here is your poor father’s 
last letter to me, ” he went on, opening a drawer in the 
table before him and taking out a thin envelope ; “ only 
written a few days before his sudden death, in which he 
stated he wished to insure his life for three thousand pounds 
for the benefit of his wife and family. If he had but done 
this ; ” and the lawyer paused significantly. 

“ And he had not done so?” asked Nancy in a low 
tone. 

“Unhappily he had not — he little thought, poor fel- 
low !” 

Tears rushed into Nancy’s eyes and rolled down her 
cheeks at this aliusion to her poor father’s fatal accident. 
She turned away her head to hide her emotion from Mr. 
Bayford, and he affected not to observe it, and in a few 
kindly and considerate words endeavored to explain 
to the agitated girl what he believed in future would be 
the amount of their income. 

It was very, very little. Mrs. Loftus had only brought 
a few hundreds to her husband, for her father — a soldier 
also — could afford no larger portion to his pretty daughter 
when she wedded the husband of her choice. This mod- 
est sum, however, remained intact, and Colonel Loftus 
had contrived to save about one thousand pounds. Al- 
together there was nearly fifteen hundred pounds avail- 
able for the poor widow and her fatherless children. 
This, with her pension, would be all Mrs. Loftus had to 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. II 

live on, Mr. Bay ford stated, and when he named the 
yearly amount that she could expect to receive, Nancy 
knew that it would be absolutely necessary for her to 
endeavor to do something to assist her mother. 

“It is a very small sum of course, ” said Mr. Bayford 
kindly,” but still, in a cottage in the country, and with 
economy, I daresay your mother will be able to make it 
do. And perhaps by-and-by you will be able to help her ? 
Have you any particular talent or accomplishment? ” 

Nancy sorrowfully shook her head. 

“I am afraid not,” she answered; and then after a 
moment’s silence, and with a sudden blush she mentioned 
Lady Blenkensop’s suggestion, that she should try to find 
some situation. 

“A very sensible and praiseworthy idea,” promptly 
replied Mr. Bayford ; “and it is very well indeed that you 
have such an influential friend as Lady Blenkensop ready 
to help you. If you could procure a situation, as a gover- 
ness, shall we say, in some good family, with sixty or 
seventy pounds a year salary, you could spare half of it 
to assist your mother to bring up her younger children ? ” 

“Oh, yes, yes!” said Nancy; but there was an odd, 
choking sensation in her throat which prevented her from 
speaking many words. It was all so new and strange to 
her, the thought of going out into the world amongst 
strangers, and to listen to its being thus discussed so 
calmly and indifferently naturally affected her. She had 
been her father’s pride and darling, and had been nearly 
eighteen when her mother, the younger children and her- 
self, had left India, fourteen months ago. Her father then 
commanded his regiment, and Nancy had been an ad- 
mired, flattered young girl, holding a good position in 
society, for Colonel Loftus was a very popular man, and 
Nancy certainly had run a risk of being spoilt by the 
amount of attention she constantly received. 

She had had her little romance, too, we may be sure, and 
while Mr. Bayford was talking of her future salary as a 
governess, her thoughts had wandered away to early 
morning rides, to whispered ball-room protestations ; to 
a handsome face that Nancy remembered so well. But 
these romantic reflections were speedily interrupted. 

“I shall be pleased,” continued Mr. Bayford, rising 
and holding out his hand, “ to hear you have obtained 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


12 


a good situation ; and if at any time I can be of use to 
your mother or yourself, please let me know.” 

Nancy now saw that she was expected to go, and she 
went ; went back sadly and slowly to the little house that 
such a brief time ago had been made lively with girlish 
voices and laughter, but which was now as dull and 
gloomy as the leaden November skies above it. Mrs. 
Loftus, ill, weak and depressed, was confined to bed ; Mil- 
ly, the second girl, who was always delicate and sensi- 
tive, had visibly drooped and pined in the sorrowful 
atmosphere by which she had lately been surrounded, 
and even the baby looked ill. 

There was no one therefore to receive poor Nancy with 
a sympathetic smile of welcome when she returned home 
after her harassing visit to the City, weary and heart-sore. 
She went straight upstairs to her own little bedroom, 
and sat down there, and thought over all that Mr. Bay- 
ford had told her very sadly. 

Then, after a while, she rose, bathed her eyes and a 
resolute look came over her pretty face. 

“I must do what I can,” she thought ; “ there is no one 
else to do it. I must try to be mother’s help.” 


CHAPTER II. 

LADY BLENKENSOP. 

The same day Nancy wrote to her mother’s friend, Lady 
Blenkensop, and told her truthfully how little there was 
left for them to live on, and also how ill and broken down 
poor Mrs. Loftus was. And she added with flushed 
cheeks and trembling hands : — 

“As soon as dear mother is well enough for me to 
leave her, I shall be very grateful to you if you will help 
me to obtain some situation that would enable me to 
assist mother,” and so on. 

The lady to whom this letter was addressed received it 
on the following morning at breakfast, and read it with 
her double gold-glasses fixed on her high and well-shaped 
nose. 

She was a good-looking woman this, of some fifty- 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


!3 

five years, with clear, shrewd, searching eyes, a fresh 
complexion, and iron-gray hair. Opposite to her sat Gen- 
eral Blenkensop, a little man, white-haired and shrewd- 
looking also. He was reading a newspaper, but laid it 
down when his wife addressed him. 

“This is from Nancy Loftus,” said Lady Blenkensop, 
in a loud but not unpleasant voice. She had a very 
decided manner, and spoke like a woman who quickly 
made up her mind. 

“Ah?” answered the general inquiringly, looking at 
his wife through his spectacles. “And how are they get- 
ting on poor things ?” 

“Very badly. Just as I thought. Mrs. Loftus is ill, 
and one cannot wonder at it, and they are left wretched- 
ly poor.” 

“ I was afraid of that. Poor Loftus, it was a sad bus- 
iness.” 

“ Nancy says here that her father had written to his 
lawyer about insuring his life for three thousand pounds 
only a few days before he was killed. Was there ever 
anything so unfortunate ? But no man should ever put off 
for a day what is a positive duty if he has a wife.” 

The General gave a sort of assenting groan ; his life 
was insured for five thousand pounds, and had been done 
so at the repeated requests and representations of his wife, 
therefore he was very well acquainted with her opinions 
on the subject. 

“Nancy seems inclined to behave well and sensibly,” 
continued Lady Blenkensop. “ She says she will be glad to 
take a situation as soon as she can leave her mother; and 
the sooner she does this the better. They will all have 
to put their hands to the wheel now, and poor Mrs. Loftus 
must exert herself for the sake of the younger children, as 
Nancy is the only one old enough to work.’’ 

“ It’s hard on poor Nancy ; and such a pretty girl, too.” 

“But her good looks won’t bring them bread. She’s a 
well-educated young woman, and under their unfortunate 
circumstances she must turn her education to account, and 
spare some of her salary to help her mother. I shall see 
about getting her a situation at once. 

“ Wasn’t Godfrey Erne rather sweet on her in India ? ” 

“ Godfrey Erne is in no position to be sweet, as you 
call it, on anyone : certainly not on a penniless girl,” 
answered Lady Blenkensop sharply ; for Godfrey Erne 


14 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


was her nephew, and she did not like to hear his name 
coupled with Nancy’s. 

“ Well I’m sorry for the poor little lassie,” said the Gen- 
eral, as he once more raised his newspaper, for he was a 
kind man, and remembered the pretty girl so well, who 
had been the belle of many an Indian ball-room. 

Lady Blenkensop was a kind woman, too, but her kind- 
ness was of that active and somewhat aggravating nature 
which displays itself in the management of other people’s 
affairs. The moment breakfast was over, therefore, she 
retired to a little sitting-room of her own, and at once drew 
out her visiting list and began seriously to consider, as 
she conned the names, which family would be most like- 
ly to require a governess suited to the age and capabilities 
of Nancy Loftus. 

“The children must be young,” mentally decided her 
ladyship in her energetic way; “Nancy is not old enough 
to manage big girls — Lady Gilmore’s twins are seven or 
eight, I believe — I wonder if she would do for them.” 

And the idea of Lady Gilmore’s twins found favor in 
Lady Blenkensop’s mind. 

“She is very rich, and can afford to give Nancy a good 
salary,” went on her reflections. “ It would be a splendid 
thing for the girl if I can manage it. Well, I will try.” 

And Lady Blenkensop did try. She drove the same 
day twelve miles in a cold, bleak mist to Wrothsley Castle, 
which was one of the show places of the county, and 
one of the many residences of the widowed Lady Gil- 

Lady Blenkensop knew this lady, and had visited her 
occasionally since the General had held his present com- 
mand in the neighborhood, and she knew, too, that Lady 
Gilmore was considered a somewhat eccentric and odd- 
tempered woman. 

Her marriage was said also to have been an unhappy 
one. The late Lord, a gay and handsome man, had mar- 
ried in his youth the daughter of a proud, poor northern 
Catholic family, who had brought him neither money nor 
beauty, and yet who esteemed her blue blood to be far 
beyond the new title and the great wealth of Lord Gilmore. 

She despised, in fact, the origin of that great wealth, 
and never quite forgot that her husband’s father had been 
a brewer, whose riches had grown and grown year by 
year, until a vast fortune was accumulated. He had been 
created a baronet first, and then, when he was quite an 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


!5 

old man, a peer, and scarcely lived a year to bear his new 
honors. 

Then his young, good-looking son came into posses- 
sion of the great estates, the gorgeous mansions, the huge 
vats, the mighty drayhorses, and the coronet, that the old 
man had left behind. He soon got rid of the vats and the 
dray-horses, and the famous beer his father had brewed 
was not used in the new Lord Gilmore’s household, nor 
was it a word ever to be heard on his lips. He married 
into the oldest and proudest family he was acquainted 
with, for Miss Dorothy Vaux could not find in her heart 
to refuse the handsome wooer, though she scorned his 
new name. She loved him, was jealous of him, and some- 
times reminded him with her sharp tongue that “her peo- 
ple ’* came of long descent, and that trade had never once 
stained their escutcheon. And these taunts did not tend 
to increase the young Lord’s affection for his wife, and 
he sometimes swore at his highly-born Dorothy, and used 
very strong language indeed when the shadow of one of 
the black-robed priests of her Church was to be seen cross- 
ing his threshold. 

But Lady Gilmore clung to her old faith, and there was 
a bitter quarrel between the husband and wife when an 
heir was born, in what tenets he should be reared. Lord 
Gilmore, however, got his own way, and the boy was 
christened by the Vicar of the parish ; but the mother shed 
many secret tears over the cradle, and prayed silently 
words she dare not speak aloud. 

The child was sickly and ailing from its birth, and died 
shortly after a second son was born, and again the mother 
struggled for what she deemed the new babe’s salvation. 
But Lord Gilmore was firm ; no child of his should be 
brought up a Roman Catholic, he told her, and Lady Gil- 
more was compelled to submit to this dictate. Again the 
Vicar of the parish was summoned, and Lord Gilmore 
named his second son Hugh, and wished many a time, 
both openly and in private, that this stalwart boy had been 
born the heir. 

He was unjust and mean enough even to taunt his wife 
with her first-born’s bodily delicacy, and when the child 
died made no pretence of regret. He indeed grew a little 
more domestic in his habits than formerly, and was never 
weary of playing with and admiring the little Hugh, whom 
he justly considered had inherited his own good looks, 
and straight and well-formed limbs. 


6 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


And as this boy was born, so he grew up; a beautiful 
child, a handsome lad, he was the pride and darling of 
both his parents, and no other child that was born to them 
was ever regarded as he was. He remained the only son, 
though Lady Gilmore had four daughters, two of whom 
died in infancy ; but when young Hugh was about seven- 
teen the last of Lady Gilmore’s children — the twin girls 
that Lady Blenkensop was now so anxious to provide a 
governess for — were born, and three years later their father 
died, and thus, at twenty, Hugh Gifford, the heir, became 
Lord Gilmore. 

It was a trying position for so young a man, and from 
that day his mother had watched over him with absolutely 
feverish anxiety and unrest. She had an excitable tempera- 
ment, with strong, ardent feelings, and the jealous yearn- 
ing love she had once given to her husband was now all 
centred on this handsome and beloved son. She sent him to 
travel with a private tutor when he was twenty-one, but 
some rumors having reached her ears, she started after him 
at an hour’s notice, and remained with him the whole time 
he was abroad. He made her life half-miserable in fact, 
just as the late Lord Gilmore had done, but he was also the 
sole interest and hope of it. Her little girls in the nursery 
were almost nothing to her, and her thoughts by day and 
dreams by night were all filled with one image. 

There was none like him, she often proudly thought; 
and many fair women whom Lady Gilmore did not 
choose to know, and many fair girls who courted her for 
his sake, were ready to agree with her, and declare that 
there were few, if any, so handsome, so winning, as the 
young, rich, third Lord Gilmore. 

He was now twenty-four years of age, and the life he 
led was said to be far from a creditable one. But this 
did not prevent him being popular and sought after; 
his enormous wealth and personal advantages over- 
weighed all the rest, and “he had but to choose,” his 
mother said, when speaking of his marriage ; an event 
which she feared, dreaded, and sometimes hoped for. 

Lady Blenkensop was thinking of this mother and son 
as she drove along the misty roadways towards Wroths- 
ley. She was not personally acquainted with the young 
Lord, who only paid occasional, and sometimes very 
brief, visits to his mother, though, to do him justice, he 
was fond of her, and unwilling to wound her, un- 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


17 

less his own pleasures and conveniences interfered with 
his filial affection. 

“Well, it is a fine place, thought Lady Blenkensop, as 
they entered the vast park, driving through the open lodge 
gate, at which stood the rosy-cheeked, stout lodge-keeper’s 
wife, surrounded by four rosy-cheeked children, who all 
seemed in some strange state of excitement or other. 

“Absurd, having those children out in a mist like this, ” 
mentally reflected Lady Blenkensop as she passed this 
family group, for she never could resist managing her 
neighbor’s affairs, and absolutely thought of stopping 
the carriage to give the woman this advice. She did not 
do this, however, but proceeded across the park by the 
wide carriage road, the state of the atmosphere almost 
hiding from her view the broad grass lands and stately 
groups of leafless trees on either side of it. 

The Castle was also invisible through the murky air; 
that vast pile of buildings which the first Lord Gilmore, 
then Sir Thomas Gifford, had raised with such pomp and 
pride. Nothing that wealth could purchase had not been 
spent on it, and the second Lord had been proud of his 
father’s pictures if not of his beer. All the great masters 
were represented at Wrothsley, and Sir Thomas used to 
boast that for the seven paintings the state dining-room 
contained he had spent over twenty-five thousand 
pounds. 

“ It is strange how unequally money is divided, ” re- 
flected Lady Blenkensop, thinking of these things, as she 
proceeded on her way, and of the poor, almost penniless, 
well-born girl, whose bread she was now going to beg for 
from the heirs of the rich brewer. 

Almost as this thought went through her active mind, a 
groom, splendidly mounted, and dressed in the Gilmore 
livery, galloped past the carriage in hot haste ; the sudden 
appearance of the man and his steed through the mist, 
somewhat startled Lady Blenkensop’s horses. The groom 
was riding from the Castle, which was still distant about 
half-a-mile, so extensive was the park ; and as Lady Blen- 
kensop put her head out of the window and looked after 
the man, wondering what made him ride at such danger- 
ous speed, she perceived a group of figures also approach- 
ing the carriage, and a moment later they had hurried 
past it, and among this group Lady Blenkensop recog- 
nized a face, a figure, that she knew. 

2 


8 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


“Surely that was Lady Gilmore,” she muttered to her- 
self ; “ whatever can have happened.” 

Lady Gilmore’s appearance was indeed sufficiently start- 
ling. Her dark hair was uncovered, and her dark eyes, 
were fixed before her with an expression of such anguish and 
mental fear written on them, that no wonder Lady Blen- 
kensop was sure that something dreadful must have oc- 
curred. She stopped the carriage ; she descended on the 
roadway, and looked eagerly after Lady Gilmore’s flying 
footsteps. Two women were with her, and one or two 
men-servants ; and, as Lady Blenkensop hesitated a mo- 
ment what to do, another woman and a man also came 
running towards her from the direction of the Castle, 
and Lady Blenkensop at once addressed the foremost of 
these. 

“What is the matter? ’’she asked of an excited young 
woman-servant. “ Surely that was Lady Gilmore who 
passed just now ? ” 

“Yes, my Lady, ” answered the panting, breathless 
girl : “ that was her poor ladyship, and she’s in a fearful 
state. ” 

“ What has happened? ” again inquired Lady Blenken- 
sop sharply. 

“The young Lord has been shot, my Lady, and they 
say he’s lying dead and murdered in the wood down 
there ” answered the maid, and she pointed down the road. 

“One of the keepers brought the news, andmyLady ran 
ont just as she was, and they’ve sent John the groom gal- 
loping for the doctor, but the keeper thinks it’s no good.” 

“ How dreadful ! ” cried Lady Blenkensop, greatly 
shocked, and her clear, rosy complexion grew a little pale. 
She was thinking of the mother whose devoted love 
for the young Lord was well known, and her kind heart 
bled for her. 

“I’ll follow her,” she said the next moment, in her 
quick way. Get up beside the coachman, girl, and di- 
rect him to the wood where you say Lord Gilmore was 
found. Did the keeper leave him alone when he brought 
the news to Lady Gilmore? ” 

“No, my Lady, two keepers found him, and one of 
them stayed with him,” replied the maid as she prepared 
to obey Lady Blenkensop’s command, and was assisted 
up by the coachman to the box after he had turned his 
horses. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION, 


1 9 


“ Drive as fast as you can, Williams,” directed Lady * 
Blenkensop, as she re-entered the carriage ; and Williams, 
therefore, drove rapidly back the same road he had come 
until he pulled up in view of a small wood, or rather cop- 
pice, when he descended from his box and went to the 
carriage-window to speak to his lady. 

“The young woman, my Lady, says yon’s the wood 
where the young Lord was found, and there’s no carriage 
road through it,” he explained. 

“In that case I shall get out,” replied Lady Blenkensop, 
“and the young woman must show me the way, and you 
wait here until I return. ” 

Williams touched his hat, and went and gave directions 
to the “ young woman and a moment or two later Lady 
Blenkensop and the maid left the roadway, and crossed 
the damp grass until they reached the coppice, and en- 
tered the narrow pathway through its midst where every 
bough and branch of the leafless trees, and every leaf of 
the tall dark hollies, were hung with dew-drops from the 
mist. 

They walked on almost in silence, for they heard a 
murmur of voices in advance of them, and presently 
down a glade — some seven or eight yards from the path- 
way — they saw figures moving, and guided by these soon 
came on a sight which might have moved the cold- 
est heart. 

They saw Lady Gilmore, bare-headed, white-faced, 
kneeling on the damp grass, and in her arms, pressed 
frantically against her bosom, was the still, ghastly 
face of the young man whose favored lot Lady Blenk- 
ensop had so lately been thinking of, and whose life- 
blood was now streaming on his mother’s breast. 


CHAPTER III. 
a woman’s name. 

Lady Blenkensop was a woman of prompt and energetic 
action, and she did not waste any time in exclamations 
of pity or horror, as her eyes fell on the young lord’s 
white face. She kneeled down on the grass, raised 
one of the limp, colorless hands, that hung helplessly 


20 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


by his side, and felt in vain for any pulsation at the wrist. 
But still something in his expression told her that the last 
breath of life had not passed away from his pallid lips. 

“ He has fainted from loss of blood, I think,” she said 
in her quick way, addressing Lady Gilmore, whose face 
was rigid with the anguish and terror of her soul. “ We 
must try to stop the bleeding until the doctor comes,” she 
added, glancing round at the agitated group of servants 
present. “ Have any of you a knife or a pair of scissors ? 
We ought to cut the sleeve out of his coat : and vve want 
brandy. ” 

The butler, a respectable, middle-aged man, now step- 
ped forward and produced a cut-glass bottle containing 
brandy. 

“ I caught up this, my lady, as I ran out of the house, 
as I thought it might be useful,” he said. 

“It is very well you had the good sense to bring it,” 
replied Lady Blenkensop, as she rose from the ground. 
She was wearing a handsome new plush cloak lined with 
fur, and as she put up her hand to unfasten the clasp for 
a moment she hesitated, for as a rule she was a saving 
woman, and very careful of her garments. But the grass 
was damp, and Lord Gilmores hands cold and icy, and 
Lady Blenkensop saw no help for it. So she took off her 
cloak and spread it on the ground. 

“Now, Lady Gilmore let your people lift him on this,” 
she said : “ you should not hold up his head as you are 
doing, and I will try to get a little brandy between his 
lips, and first of all we must endeavor to stop the bleed- 
ing.” 

Lady Gilmore was too much overcome to offer any 
opposition to the elder womans stronger will. She allowed 
them to take her son frpm her arms and lay him on 
Lady Blenkensop’s cloak, crawling to his side on her 
knees, while Lady Blenkensop tried to pour a little brandy 
between his lips, and directed the butler to rub his hands 
and feet with the spirit. Then Lady Blenkensop began 
energetically to cut the sleeve out of the young man’s 
coat, through which the blood was still pouring fast. 
She soon accomplished this, and rolled back the soaked 
shirt below, and came to the wound close to the shoulder, 
to which she at once held a handkerchief with her firm 
hand. 

“Go to the house for linen bandages, pillow cases — 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


21 


anything will do,” she said, looking up, and one or two 
of the women-servants at once ran to do her bidding, and 
in a short time Lady Blenkensop had everything she 
required, and knew enough of the nature and binding of 
wounds to be of the greatest possible assistance to the 
injured man. 

He sighed faintly twice, and his face lost its extreme 
pallor even before the doctor arrived. This doctor, a 
little, pompous, fat, red-faced man, was in a state of con- 
siderable excitement at being called in to attend on Lord 
Gilmore, as his services had only hitherto been required 
by the servants at Wrothsley. But he was the nearest 
medical man at hand, and the groom had ridden to his 
house in the village close by, and had happily found him 
at home, and Dr. Roberts had lost no time in hurrying to 
the young lord's side. 

“ He is beginning to revive, isn’t he, doctor?” said Lady 
Blenkensop, addressing him as he knelt down and took up 
one of Gilmore’s chill hands and felt for his pulse. 

“I hope so, my Lady,” answered the little doctor 
nervously, and then he proceeded to examine the faintly 
blue-edged bullet wound. 

“ The shoulder is badly injured, I am afraid,” he said. 

“ Is the bone broken ?” asked Lady Blenkensop inquir- 
ingly. 

“Yes,” answered the doctor, “but we can do nothing 
with that here : Lord Gilmore must be taken at once to 
the Castle. ” 

He bound the wound up and then directed a mattress to 
be brought, and a gate to be hastily taken off its hinges, 
and when this was done, Lord Gilmore, still wrapped 
in Lady Blenkensop’s cloak, was lifted on it, and thus 
carried home, followed by his mother, whom Lady Blenk- 
ensop had raised from the damp ground. 

“Come, you must not give way ; he is all right ; he will 
pull through,” she said, kindly and consolingly, to the 
white, or rather grayfaced woman, as she put her arm 
through Lady Gilmore’s and took her hand; and Lady 
Gilmore’s rose stiffly, still never once taking her eyes off 
her son. 

Four men lifted the gate on which Lord Gilmore now 
lay, and bore him towards the Castle, the doctor walking 
by his side ; and just as the two ladies were about to 
follow, Lady Blenkensop felt someone touch her gown, 


22 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


and, turning quickly round, saw the young maid-servant 
who had accompanied her to the spot, standing by her 
side. 

‘ ‘ If you please, my Lady, ” she said, rather in a frightened 
tone, “I picked up this ribbon by the bush there, near 
where my Lord was lying, and I thought I had better give 
it to you.” 

“Quite right,” answered Lady Blenkensop quickly, and 
she took the bunch of cardinal-colored ribbons in her hand. 
It had evidently belonged to a woman’s dress, a dainty bow, 
fresh and new-fangled, and without another word, and 
without attracting Lady Gilmore’s attention to it, she 
slipped it into the pocket of her gown. 

“ It had caught on that bush there,” said the maid, 
pointing to a trailing bramble; and Lady Blenkensop 
nodded, and then silently put her arm through Lady 
Gilmore’s, and together they walked out of the little wood 
behind the men w ho bore the young Lord. 

Lady Gilmorels footsteps faltered, and sometimes nearly 
failed her, and it needed Lady Blenkensop’s strong arm to 
support her trembling frame. It was piteous to see the 
expression of her face, the fixed look of anguish in her 
dark eyes, as they followed the bearers of her son. All 
his life he had been the idol whom she had worshipped 
with an exceeding love, and to see him thus — struck down 
in his young prime — seemed almost more than her reason 
could endure. No wonder, then, that her strained gaze 
never moved ; that her pallid lips spoke no word. 

Lady Blenkensop proposed that they should drive up to 
the castle in her carriage, which was waiting on the road- 
way through the park, but Lady Gilmore made a mute 
sign of dissent. So they silently walked on, and as they 
did so Lady Blenkensop was speculating curiously how 
the cardinal-ribbon bow had found its way to the spot 
where Lord Gilmore lay wounded. 

“ Probably a woman’s at the bottom of it,” she reflected, 
and her head gave a little deprecating shake. But she 
said nothing to Lady Gilmore, and showed both good 
sense and kindness when at length they reached the Castle 
to the half-bewildered mother, who seemed, indeed, to 
have lost the power of thought. 

“We had best telegraph for two of the first surgeons in 
town, had we not?” she suggested, and Lady Gilmore 
eagerly caught at the idea, though before it had never 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


23 


occurred to her through the mists of her absorbing- grief. 

Lady Blenkensop therefore at once wrote out two urgent 
telegrams, and sent the butler to the nearest Post-office 
with them, and having done this proceeded up the magnifi- 
cent front staircase of the Castle in search of Lady Gilmore, 
who had closely followed her son. As she did this, and 
was passing down one of the long broad corridors, two 
little girls who were standing with frightened faces at the 
door of a room, ran up to her as she drew near. 

“What is the matter, Lady Blenkensop ? ” they both 
began almost as if in one voice. “What is the matter 
with Gilmore ? ” 

“He has got hurt somehow, my dears,” answered Lady 
Blenkensop, kindly laying her hand on the shoulder of 
the girl nearest to her; “but I hope he will soon be 
better. ” 

“Mother will not speak to us,” she answered raising 
her pretty face with an injured air; “and no one will 
attend to us; it is very annoying.” * 

“Where is your governess ? ” asked Lady Blenkensop, 
her quick mind instantly travelling in the direction of 
Nancy Loftus, for these children were the twin-daughters 
of Lady Gilmore. 

“She’s gone,” they both answered simultaneously, for 
they had a curious fashion of saying the same things at 
the same moment ; “ mother said she was a fool.” 

“Ah, indeed?” smiled Lady Blenkensop. 

“They had a row, you know,” explained the young 
ladies in the following words : “They had a row, you 
know,” said Miss Dossy ; “Oh, yes, a row, you know,” 
echoed Miss Flossy a moment later. 

It was the same in all their conversations, and their 
features, hair and complexions were as like as their ideas. 
They were pretty children, and had inherited, as their 
brother had done, the good looks of the late Lord Gil- 
more, and not the dark eyes and sallow skin of their 
mother. 

‘ ‘ And when did she go ? ” asked Lady Blenkensop, who 
was interested in the departure of the governess. 

“Mother packed her off yesterday,” answered the 
twins ; “ packed her off at an hour’s notice, and it was a 
good riddance.” 

It was funny to hear these children talk in their old- 
fashioned way. They, in truth, lived with grown-up 


24 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


people, and Lady Gilmore was not a judicious mother. 
She gave way to her quick temper before them, and would 
scold and pet them in one breath. She found fault also 
with their governess in their presence, and laughed when 
they caught up Gilmore’s phrases and words. 

“Then you will want a new governess?” suggested 
Lady Blenkensop. 

“ I suppose so, but it’s a nuisance,” said Dossy. 

“Yes, a nuisance,” echoed Flossy. 

Lady Blenkensop said nothing more about the gover- 
ness, but she patted both the fair heads with her large, 
strong, white hand. 

“Well, I shall go and see after your mother and your 
brother now, my dears,” she proposed. 

“And will you kindly come and tell us how Gilmore 
is?” replied the twins together. “We are anxious, you 
know, and everything seems at sixes and sevens. ” 

“Yes, I shall come and tell you,” said Lady Blenken- 
sop ; “ but you are too young to be with Gilmore while 
the doctor is there, as he is at present, and I suppose all 
the servants are busy. ” 

“Yet we have a proper schoolroom maid who does 
nothing but attend on us/* answered Dossy with some 
dignity. 

“Nothing but attend on us,” repeated Flossy. 

“Gilmore’s accident has put the household in confusion, 

I daresay ; but I shall not forget my promise, and will 
come and tell you how he is going on. If I walk down 
here shall I come to his room? ” 

“It is in the left wing,” replied both young ladies 
eagerly ; “if you walk straight down here you will come 
to a staircase, and if you go up that you will come to 
Gilmores suit of rooms ; they are the best we have.” 

Lady Blenkensop obeyed these directions, and went 
along the richly-carpeted corridor, which was hung on 
either side with valuable old armor, until she came to the 
staircase which led to the left wing. She ascended this, 
and meeting two maid-servants, was directed to the bed- 
room into which Lord Gilmore had been carried. She 
found him lying on the bed, looking faint and even ghastly 
white. The doctor kept his fingers anxiously on his pulse. 
He had relapsed into unconsciousness, and looked so 
death-like that a vague fear darted into Lady Blenkensop’s 
heart 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


25 

His mother was kneeling by one side of the bed, and 
never glanced round as Lady Blenkensop entered the 
room. A silent moment or two passed — solemn moments, 
when the faint fluttering breath seemed almost stayed and 
the gray shadows of death grew very near — and then young 
manhood, strong and vigorous, asserted its power against 
the foe. 

Once more Lord Gilmore sighed, and the extreme pal- 
lor again passed from his face, and the little doctor, who 
had grown quite pale with anxiety, breathed a sigh of 
relief. 

“He’s coming round, my Lady,” he said, and his 
words proved true. But he was very weak and low, and 
the doctor made no further attempt to examine the wound, 
Lord Gilmore being in too prostrate a condition for him 
to do so. 

It was not until nine o’clock in the evening, the two 
surgeons from town having by this time arrived at Wroths- 
ley, that its real nature was ascertained. He had been 
shot in the upper part of the chest, close to the shoulder, 
and the bullet had lodged in and broken his shoulder- 
bone. It was a dangerous wound, though both the medi- 
cal men declared not a fatal one, unless the young Lord 
sank through fever or weakness. 

But it was so serious that Lady Blenkensop gave up 
all idea of returning to her home until the crisis was past. 
She therefore sent her carriage back to Greystone Lodge, 
which her husband, General Sir Charles Blenkensop, had 
taken for a season while he commanded in the neighbor- 
hood ; and she entrusted her coachman with a letter to 
Sir Charles. 

Let us read this characteristic epistle, and understand 
the somewhat grim smile with which the General did so. 

“ Dear Charles, — 

“I drove this afternoon over here (to Wrothsley) 
for the purpose which I mentioned to you this morning 
at breakfast, namely, to try to-get a situation for Nancy 
Loftus. I found everything in confusion, for the young 
Lord had just been discovered, it was feared, in a dying 
condition in one of the thickets of the Park. Lady Gil- 
more’s distress was so great that it seemed almost to 
deprive her of reason, and I trust I was able to be of some 
little help to her. He was bleeding to death from a bullet 


26 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


wound when I reached him, and no one had had the 
sense to try to stop the hemorrhage. I succeeded in do- 
ing this, and we had him carried to the Castle, and I tele- 
graphed for Sir James Thompson, and Mr. Lyhurst, whom 
I thought were the two most eminent men I could choose. 
They came down from town by a fast train, but it took 
them three hours, and they did not arrive until nine o’clock. 
By this time Gilmore had gained a little strength, and the 
doctors were able to give an opinion on his condition. 
He is dangerously, but we hope not fatally, wounded, 
and though from its nature the injury might have been 
self-inflicted, it is of course quite impossible to believe 
that it was. Gilmore has too many of this world’s good 
gifts to wish to quit it. He is young, rich, and handsome, 
and was not at all likely — for he is self-indulgent and sel- 
fish, I am told — to cause himself suffering and pain. And 
also no revolver was found near the spot where he lay ; 
but something very significant I think was, I will tell you 
more of this when I see you, for at present I think it is 
my duty to remain with poor Lady Gilmore, who really 
requires some sensible person to be with her. I hope 
also to be able to arrange about Nancy Loftus coming 
here as governess to the twin girls. They are old-fashioned 
little things, but pretty, and not in the least like their 
mother. Nancy will just suit them, I think, and Lady 
Gilmore can well afford to give her an excellent salary, 
which will be a great help to Mrs. Loftus. 

“I shall be pleased to hear from you, or see you if you 
have time to come over. And I remain, your affectionate 
wife. 

“Margaret Blenkensop. ” 

Lady Blenkensop having despatched this letter and 
presided at a late dinner for the two London doctors, and 
settled that one of them was to remain all night at Wroths- 
ley and that Sir James Thompson was to return in the 
morning, as they then contemplated the extraction of the 
bullet, and having also telegraphed to town for two pro- 
fessional nurses, about eleven o’clock again found her 
way to the young Lord’s room. 

It was in semi-darkness, and the mother and the coun- 
try doctor still were there, and Gilmore had sank into a 
restless slumber, and was murmuring uneasily in his 
dreams. Suddenly he half started and gave a cry. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


27 


‘‘Alice ! Alice ! ” he uttered in a plaintive voice of pain, 
and as the woman’s name passed his lips, his mother's 
brow contracted, and Lady Blenkensop silently watching 
her, saw her small hands clench and her pale face grow 
whiter still. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE NEW GOVERNESS. 

The next few days were spent by Lady Gilmore in a 
miserable state of suspense between hope and fear. The 
bullet was extracted from Gilmore’s shoulder safely, but 
a slight attack of fever set in, and even the doctors ad- 
mitted to Lady Blenkensop that his condition was ex- 
tremely precarious. They did not tell the poor mother 
this, but with the deep, strange instinct of love she under- 
stood it, and watched night and day by his bed — her eyes, 
wistful and pathetic, fixed ever on his face. 

He was delirious at times, and again and again ad- 
dressed some imaginary person he called “Alice.” He 
talked of other scenes, too ; wild hours of debauchery and 
ript, and Lady Gilmore listening, bowed her head down 
upon the bed, and offered many a silent prayer. She 
brought her crucifix there also, and hung it by his bed, 
kneeling before it and asking for his life with an inten- 
sity of passion and faith which was unutterably touching. 

Her two little girls, Dossy and Flossy, seemed at this 
time to be totally forgotten by her. She neither asked 
after them, nor saw them, but Lady Blenkensop paid fre- 
quent visits to the schoolroom, and one day ventured to 
speak to Lady Gilmore about Nancy Loftus. 

“Your little girls should have some lady to look after 
them, don’t you think? ” she suggested. 

“I can think of nothing now but of him,” answered 
Lady Gilmore, looking towards the open door, which led 
to Lord Gilmore’s bedroom. The two ladies were in an 
ante-room where Lady Gilmore took her hasty meals, and 
lay occasionally down for an hour’s disturbed rest, and 
she and Lady Blenkensop were now drinking some tea. 

“Of course, your anxiety is most natural, though I 
hope it will soon be over,” said Lady Blenkensop, kind- 
ly, “but these children really ought to have a governess. 


28 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT , OR, 


I wish you would let me engage one for you. I know 
an extremely nice girl, well-born and well-educated, who, 
through the sad and sudden death of her father, is com- 
pelled to do something for her living.” 

“ Do you know her? Is she a friend of yours?” asked 
Lady Gilmore, with interest. 

“I know her well : have known her since she was a 
child, and her father, Colonel Loftus, was a great friend 
of my husband's, and was killed, poor man, quite lately, 
while out pig-sticking in India, and I am sorry to say 
has left his wife and family in very poor circumstances. 
But this girl, Nancy, who is a nice-looking, lady-like girl, 
is most anxious to do something to assist her mother ; 
and as you happen to be without a governess I wish you 
would try her.” 

“She is a friend of yours, that is enough,” said Lady 
Gilmore, with a sudden gush of impulsive gratitude, rising 
and clasping Lady Blenkensop’s hand. “Do you think 
I forget what you did for my boy ? But for you — oh, 

I dare, I dare not talk of it — engage this young lady, 
of course, if you wish it, and give her whatever salary 
you think proper ; * I leave it entirely in your hands, and 
I thank you very much for thinking about the poor chil- 
dren.” 

“Would you think one hundred a year too much?” 
asked Lady Blenkensop, who was prompt and practical, 
and knew that Lady Gilmore was very rich. 

“Certainly not ; more if you like — but hush — did Gil- 
more speak then ? ” And as she spoke Lady Gilmore stole 
quietly across the room, and went to the open bedroom 
door in an attitude of intent attention. 

She stood listening thus for a few moments, and then, 
with a silent gesture of excuse to Lady Blenkensop, en- 
tered her son’s room, and Lady Blenkensop, after one or 
two minutes’ consideration, thought herself justified in 
writing to town to engage Nancy Loftus to be governess 
to the Honorable Misses Gilmore. She was very pleased 
to do this ; pleased because she had arranged the matter, 
she believed, very cleverly, and because her kind heart 
rejoiced to be able thus to assist the daughter of her old 
friends. 

“ She ought to allow seventy-five pounds a year to her 
mother,” she decided before she penned her epistle to 
Nancy ; “ twenty-five is ample for the dress of a girl of 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


29 

her age. I shall give her a hint what she ought to do 
with her money/’ 

And she gave Nancy this “hint*’ in her usual pro- 
nounced and open way. She wrote to her from Wroths- 
ley the same evening that she had spoken to Lady Gil- 
more, and told her how she happened to be staying at the 
Castle, describing, as she had done to her husband, her 
own good services to the wounded Lord. Then she came 
to the pith of her letter. 

“They saw, however/’ she wrote, “that good very 
often springs from evil, and in that case it has certainly 
done so. The assistance I was fortunately able to render 
Lord Gilmore has won for me the extreme gratitude of 
his mother, who is devoted to him, and I have availed 
myself of this feeling to procure a most excellent situa- 
tion for you. On my recommendation alone Lady Gil- 
more has agreed to engage you as governess to her two 
little girls, at the very handsome salary of one hundred 
a year. I am very pleased about this arrangement, dear 
Nancy, because out of this sum you will be able materi- 
ally to assist your mother; as five-and-twenty pounds a 
year will be ample for your own personal expenses here. 
I wish you, therefore, to come to Wrothsley at once — 
shall we settle to-day week? — as I shall then still be here 
to receive you, and induct you into your new duties. To 
prevent any worries or expenses to your mother about 
your dress or train fares, I enclose a check for twenty 
pounds, which I hope you will accept from your old 
friend, with her best love. I am very glad indeed to 
have been able to do so well for you, as I had a great 
respect and regard for your dear father, and the tone of 
your letter also pleased me, and I feel sure you will do 
credit to my recommendation. 

With love to your mother, 

I remain, sincerely yours, 

“ Margaret Blenkensop.” 

This letter, indited in Lady Blenkensop’s firm, clear 
handwriting, duly arrived at the little house in the north- 
western suburb, where poor Mrs. Loftus and her children 
were still drinking the bitter cup of sorrow. More than 
a week had elapsed since Nancy had written to Lady 
Blenkensop about procuring a situation for her, and 
Nancy had begun to think that her father and mother’s 


30 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


friend had perhaps rued of the offer she had made to 
endeavor to do so. Therefore Lady Blenkensop’s letter 
was welcome, for Nancy saw very plainly that she could 
not afford to live at home. 

This fact had been pointed out to her also by her late 
fathers only sister, Mrs. Barclay, or “Aunt Fannie,” as 
this lady was very generally called in the small house- 
hold. Mrs. Barclay was the widow of a naval officer, and 
had been abroad at the time when the news of Colonel 
Loftus’ sudden and untimely death reached England. It 
was a shock to her, and disturbed her so much that she 
broke through the easy tenor of her ordinary life suffi- 
ciently to return to London and condole with her brother’s 
broken-hearted widow. 

But though she felt very sorry for the bereaved woman 
and her fatherless children, knowing well the pinched 
circumstances they must be left in, she had no idea of 
sparing any of her own small but comfortable income 
for their benefit. 

“ I have just enough to live on, you know, Lucy, so I 
can do nothing for the children,” she told Mrs. Loftus ; 
“and the best thing Nancy can do is to find a situation, 
and 1 am very glad to hear that she is trying to do so.” 

Poor Mrs. Loftus winced terribly at this advice regard- 
ing Nancy’s future. “ Her handsome Nancy ; of whom 
her dear father had been so proud,” she thought sor- 
rowfully. She had secretly hoped that perhaps Mrs. Bar- 
clay would take one of the girls, for her sister-in-law led 
on the whole a very pleasant life. She lived in a private 
hotel or boarding-house, at Queen’s Gate, when she was 
in town, and she went abroad in winter, and paid visits 
among her friends in the autumn, and took the greatest 
possible care of herself always. If she had now con- 
sented to live with Mrs. Loftus, their united incomes 
would have maintained the little family in comfort, but 
Mrs. Barclay never for a moment contemplated such a 
self-sacrifice. 

“ I cannot bear the noise of children,” she confided to 
a friend ; “poor Mrs. Loftus would have liked me to 
remain with them, I believe, and of course share the 
expenses, but I could not stand the worry ; and young 
people, too, are always wanting something, and I really 
have no money to spare on them — but I am very sorry 
for them, poor things ! ” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


31 


But a week spent in the melancholy household was 
about enough for Mrs. Barclay, and she was just con- 
sidering what excuse she could make to leave London 
and its fogs and gloom behind her, when Lady Blenken- 
sop’s letter arrived for Nancy. This was duly shown to 
her, and “Aunt Fannie ” was delighted with its con- 
tents. 

“It’s a splendid chance for you, my dear,” she said, 
“ and one which you never would have had if Sir Charles 
and Lady Blenkensop had not respected your poor dear 
father as they did. And how kind of Lady Blenkensop 
to send twenty pounds ! And, of course, Nancy, you 
can easily spare seventy-five pounds a year to your 
mother out of your salary of a hundred ; why, it will 
almost double her income ; I am so glad ! ” 

Nancy’s pretty color deepened, but she did not speak. 

“But how caul leave poor mother when she is so 
weak?” she said a moment later. “Unless you Aunt 
Fannie, could stay on with her for a little while?” she 
added looking wistfully at the stout comfortable-looking 
woman before her, with her soft dark eyes. 

“My dear it is impossible, these fogs are killing me,” 
answered Mrs. Barclay. “ I had two coughing fits this 
morning, and felt quite depressed all yesterday with the 
darkness and heaviness of the atmosphere. And do not 
talk about not leaving your mother, Nancy ! Why what’s 
she to live on if you don’t leave her ? She must rouse 
herself, and not give way any longer; and you of course 
must go to Lady Gilmore’s on the very day that Lady 
Blenkensop names.” 

So it was all settled for poor Nancy. Aunt Fanny went 
up to Mrs. Loftus’s bedroom, and talked “sensibly,” 
pointing out how extremely lucky Nancy had been to 
procure such an excellent situation, and what a great 
assistance seventy-five pounds a year would be to herself. 

“ And who knows,” added Aunt Fanny, warming with 
her subject, “that Nancy*may not even marry well yet? 
She’s a good-looking girl, and would have had no chance 
living in little poky rooms with you, but in a place like 
Wrothsley Castle there are sure to be rich young men 
about ; and then with Lady Blenkensop so near, too, and 
the General in command of the district. I should not 
be very much surprised even if some man in the service 
were to pick her up.” 


32 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


Mrs. Loftus’ pallid cheeks flushed, and her pale lips 
quivered as she listened to this speech of her sister-in-law, 
which was spoken in perfect good faith and belief in its 
sense and kindness. There stood Mrs. Barclay, a little 
stout woman, with a drabbish-tinted complexion, ordinary 
features, and somewhat watery, rather blood-shot, humor- 
ous gray eyes, talking to the refined fond mother, of her 
pretty daughter in these coarse words, thinking all the 
while she was helping to raise her sister-in-law’s spirits, 
and really pleased with herself for doing so ! 

And Mrs. Loftus dare not retort. The miserable, humil- 
iating want of money kept her silent, for Aunt Fannie 
had her small, but certain income of five hundred a year 
in her own power, and who but her brother’s children 
were likely to inherit it? Therefore, in the interest of 
these children their mother was tongue-tied, and Aunt 
Fannie got her own way about Nancy. 

“It would be selfish, my dear Lucy, really intensely 
selfish,” argued the little woman, “ to keep the girl one 
day later at home than the day Lady Blenkensop has fixed 
for her to go. It is her chance in life, and if we throw away 
that we never get another ; and then Lady Blenkensop’s 
kindness in sending the money prevents any bother about 
raising it. ” 

And Mrs. Loftus stifled back the feelings of her heart — 
to part with Nancy, the sweet, bright girl who had 
mourned with her, comforted her, loved her — made her 
yet fresh bitter grief more bitter still. But it had to be 
borne, and Mrs. Loftus tried to bear it as bravely as her 
poor, weak nature could. Aunt Fannie at last agreed 
to stay a week or so after Nancy left ; at least, she said 
she would do this by way of consoling Nancy about 
leaving her mother; and she took her niece out to buy 
what she required, of course with Lady Blenkensop’s 
money, and even presented Nancy with a boa, which was 
a little worn, as she saw a new one which she thought 
would suit herself better. 

And thus the days passed, until the one came — only too 
soon — when Nancy and her mother were forced to part. 
It is sad even to write of those last tearful kisses ; to tell 
how these two clasped each other’s hands in silent pain. 
Nancy utterly broke down, and clung to her mother, until 
Aunt Fannie was forced to interfere, and tell Nancy some 
hard home truths ; reminding her she would lose her train 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


33 

if she wasted any more time ; and so, pale and trembling, 
the poor girl drew back from her mother’s fond arms. 

“Write constantly, darling — tell your mother every- 
thing,” whispered Mrs. Loftus. 

“Come, my dear, we shall hardly reach Paddington as 
it is,” urged Aunt Fannie, watch in hand, and a few 
moments later, for the first time in their lives, Nancy and 
her mother separated. 

Nancy scarcely heard all the good advice which her 
aunt poured so volubly into her ears on the way to the 
station. Such sentences as “Be sure you lose no op- 
portunity of expressing your gratitude to Lady Blenkensop ; 
be very deferential in your manner to Lady Gilmore,” 
were quite wasted on her, for Nancy was thinking of her 
poor mother, of her dear father’s sad death, and the great 
and terrible changes which had happened to them all. 

And after Aunt Fannie had kissed her, and placed her 
safely in a second-class railway carriage, and the train 
began speeding away from the din and smoke of the great 
City, to sombre, wintry country scenes ; past quiet homes 
standing amid green fields, Nancy was still thinking of 
the one she had just left. She was going into the world 
alone ; going among strangers, and all her future was 
doubtful and uncertain, and the girl felt afraid and sad. 

For good or evil, how would it end? Well might her 
heart beat fast and her face grow pale, for the life-journey 
she was beginning was fated to be no smooth one, and 
athwart the days to come a dark and tragic shadow fell. 


CHAPTER V. 

A NEW HOME. 

It was growing dusk ; the short winter day, wrapped 
in murky vapors and fast-gathering gloom, when Nancy 
Loftus reached the quiet country station nearest Wroths- 
ley Castle, where she had been directed by Lady Blenken- 
sop to leave the train. 

She felt very nervous and solitary as she did this, and 
looked timidly along the sparsely-peopled platform to see 
if anyone was waiting to receive her. A moment later a 

3 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


34 

well-dressed servant approached her, and, after touching 
his hat, addressed her. 

“Miss Loftus ? ” he said inquiringly. “If you are the 
young lady expected at the Castle, Lady Blenkensop de- 
sired me to be on the platform when the train came in, so 
that I might conduct you to the carriage waiting outside.” 

“I am Miss Loftus,” answered Nancy rather trembling- 
ly, “ I — I must see after my luggage.” 

“Allow me to do that’' answered the well-bred ser- 
vant. “If you will kindly name the number of your 
trunks and packages, I shall see to their safety.” 

Nancy named the modest number, and these were 
speedily placed on the platform, and then transported to 
a light luggage cart which was also waiting outside the 
station ; and then Nancy herself was conducted by the 
servant to the carriage which had been sent for her. 

She sank back on the luxurious cushions of this with a 
half- frightened sigh, as the two splendid bays which drew 
it tossed their rosetted heads, and started on their home- 
ward journey. This carriage was a symbol, as it were, 
of everything at Wrothsley, where money was of no ob- 
ject, and was spent lavishly both by the young lord and 
his mother. This was all new to Nancy, who, even in her 
father’s time, had to consider every shilling, and who 
with her mother even then had contrived her pretty fresh 
dresses at small cost. 

The evidences of great wealth, therefore, seemed at 
first oppressive to her, and when she at length arrived at 
the Castle and found herself in the magnificent entrance- 
hall, poor Nancy scarcely knew where to turn. But she 
was not forgotten ; as she was timidly speaking to the 
servant, who had been waiting on the platform for her, 
about her luggage, a stately lady was descending the lofty 
staircase behind her, and a few moments later Lady 
Blenkensop, who had given orders that she was to be told 
immediately Miss Loftus arrived, laid her hand lightly on 
Nancy’s shoulder, who started and looked round. 

“Well, my dear, how are you ? ” said this kind, if some- 
what self-opiniated, woman ; and she stooped down and 
kissed the sweet girlish face, and Nancy remembered at 
once that this was her father and mother’s friend, Lady 
Blenkensop, whom she had met occasionally in India. 

“I am glad to see you,” went on Lady Blenkensop, 
“and I trust you left your mother fairly well? But you 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


35 

must tell me all the home news presently ; come with me 
now and have some tea in the room I call mine.” 

So Nancy followed Lady Blenkensop up the broad stair- 
case, the balustrades of which were of wrought-iron work, 
with crowns and tassels hanging down between them 
from cords twisted into knots and festoons, and beauti- 
fully painted and relieved with gold. 

“ That is considered a great gem,” said Lady Blenken- 
sop, pausing one moment, and pointing out a painting by 
Holbein ; but it was one of many. Sir Thomas Gifford, 
before he became Lord Gilmore, spent an enormous sum 
of money on the magnificent collection of paintings he 
had left behind him, and the last lord had added to this, 
and the walls of all the reception rooms in the house were 
adorned with the works of the great masters. 

** It will take you some little time to learn your way 
about, it is such a great place,” continued Lady Blenken- 
sop, kindly. “ But here we are at my little den, which 
is more comfortable to my mind than the big rooms un- 
less they are full of company.” 

She pushed open a door as she spoke, and entered a 
small room hung with rich satin dapiask', and containing 
some wonderfully beautiful and costly furniture. Here 
were Indian marble tables inlaid with precious stones, and 
vases of Indian filigree work, also jewelled with precious 
stones, and a choice collection of Sevres, Dresden, and 
other china. 

“ You see what it is to be rich,” said Lady Blenkensop, 
smiling as she attracted Nancy’s attention to one or two of 
these pieces of china. ‘ ‘ This is really Lady Gilmore’s own 
room, but since the young lord’s accident she has given it 
up to me, as she lives entirely in his suite of rooms. She 
is certainly a most devoted mother, and there is good 
news to-day to cheer her, for the doctors consider Gilmore 
now almost out of danger.” 

She rang for tea as she spoke, and then, while Nancy 
was drinking it, talked to her in a sensible way, and gave 
her some excellent advice. 

“ Lady Gilmore is a warm-hearted, excitable woman, 
difficult to deal with at times, I should say, but then 
everyone is, and I am sure for my sake she will be kind 
to you ; and the children are nice little things, and talk in 
the most old-fashioned way imaginable. They are full of 
curiosity to see you, and wonder very much what you 
are like ; ” and Lady Blenkensop laughed. 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


36 

“I shall be very glad to make their acquaintance,” 
smiled Nancy, whose pretty color had now stolen back 
into her smooth round cheeks. 

“ I shall bring them presently, but you have had a long 
cold journey, and will be all the better for a little rest.” 

“I feel quite rested now — I was a little bit afraid, you 
know — but you are so kind.” 

Nancy had a charming manner, and a charming face, 
and as she said these simple words, Lady Blenkensop 
looked at her keenly. 

“She is too good-looking I am afraid,” she was think- 
ing, and again she glanced at the slender, black-robed 
figure, and thought sadly enough of the soldier father lying 
in his Indian grave. 

She roused herself with a suppressed sigh. 

“I will introduce the children to you now,” she said, 
rising and leaving the room, and a few minutes later she 
returned with the twin girls : Miss Dorothy (Dossy), who 
always took the lead somehow, and had been born a few 
minutes before the other, advancing first, and as she 
neared Nancy she held out her small hand. 

“Good evening. I am glad to see you,” she said; 
“I hope you had a pleasant journey ? ” and before Nancy 
could reply Flossy echoed her sisters words. 

“And now, my dears,” said Lady Blenkensop, laying 
a hand on the shoulder of each little girl, “I hope you 
will always be very good and kind to Miss Loftus. You 
must remember she is a great friend of mine.” 

“As she is your friend, Lady Blenkensop, of course we 
shall,” replied Dossy, with unmoved gravity. 

“Of course we shall,” affirmed Flossy. 

And not only with these children did Nancy find that 
to be “Lady Blenkensop's friend” gave her a certain po- 
sition in the household which otherwise she certainly 
would not have possessed. In her warm-hearted dicta- 
torial way indeed Lady Blenkensop gave everyone to un- 
derstand that she expected Nancy to be treated with the 
consideration and respect that she thought due to her 
friend. She insisted upon Nancy dining with her this 
first evening downstairs, and would listen to no excuse on 
the subject. 

“ It will be quite time enough to begin your duties as 
governess to-morrow, my dear,” she said, “to-night you 
are my guest, and I wish the people in the house to know 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


37 

that you are the daughter of a man for whom I had the 
highest respect." 

So Nancy dined in the small dining-room alone with 
Lady Blenkensop, and after dinner was finished, that lady 
took her over some of the state apartments of the house ; 
the magnificent dining-room, the large drawing-room, 
and the library, a beautiful room, fitted with rich Spanish 
mahogany, and containing a splendid collection of Eng- 
lish and foreign literature, including some rare editions 
of Caxton, and other early printers, and some choice 
manuscripts. 

“ Yet 1 do not suppose," said Lady Blenkensop, “ that 
anyone in this house ever takes a book down ! Lady 
Gilmore is certainly no reader, and the young Lord — well, 
I know very little of him, but I dare say the comic papers 
of the day are more to his taste. But it's a magnificent 
house, isn’t it? The pictures alone are of enormous 
value, and it would take days to go over them all prop- 
erly. There is a wonderful Rubens somewhere, but I 
forget in which room it is — but now, my dear, you must 
be tired. You have seen enough for one night, and it is 
quite time you were in bed. I will go with you to your 
room, and see that you have everything comfortable." 

And Lady Blenkensop actually did this, though Nancy 
urged her not to give herself the trouble. It was a pretty 
room where she found herself at length alone ; Lady 
Blenkensop having kissed her and left her for the night, 
and as Nancy sat down by the bright fire and looked 
around, she felt that this trying day had ended much 
better than she had ever hoped for. 

“But it is all Lady Blenkensop," she thought, grate- 
fully. “ How good she is ; mother must write and thank 
her for all her kindness." 

At the same moment “Mother" was praying with 
bended knees and clasped hands for this darling child. 
Nancy, the first-born, the little beauty, who had been the 
joy and pride of the modest household ever since the 
father had taken the tiny, pink baby hand in his large, 
brown one, and raised it tenderly and pressed it to his 
lips. And now this loved one was far away, and the 
widowed mother was doubly desolate. Even Aunt Fannie 
had felt rather dull when she had seen the last glimpse of 
Nancy’s sweet face, as the train carried her away, though 
she felt it her duty to impress on Mrs. Loftus during the 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


38 

rest of the day how thankful they all ought to be that 
Nancy had a chance of doing so well. 

God bless her, God bless her,” murmured the mother, 
with tears she could not suppress stealing down her pale 
cheeks, as Aunt Fannie ended. her well-meant admonition. 

“ She has been riiosjt fortunate, my dear Lucy, ” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs v Loftus, meekly, and she rose and left 
the room, and when alone in many a deep and heartfelt 
prayer asked for protection and blessings for her child. 

And it did, indeed, seem at first as though Nancy had 
been “ most fortunate ” in her new home at Wrothsley. 
The children took quite a fancy to her; Miss Dorothy 
informing Lady Blenkensop with infinite gravity the 
Second day of her arrival there, that “ Miss Loftus seemed 
a very nice yodng person. ” 

“ Say yoiing. lady,, my dear,” corrected Lady Blenken- 
sop. 

“But mother always calls the governesses ‘young 
persons,/ ” argued Miss Dorothy. 

“ Miss Loftus is a lady by birth,” said Lady Blenken- 
sop, amused by the child’s persistency ; and on this 
second day also Nancy saw her employer, Lady Gilmore, 
for the first time. 

She saw a woman with dark hair and eyes, who some- 
how gave you the impression of a strong and wayvvard 
will, and warm and ardent feelings hidden away under a 
cold exterior. Lady Gilmore entered the schoolroom with 
Lady Blenkensop, and only bowed gravely when Lady 
Blenkensop introduced Nancy to her. Then, as if she 
suddenly had remembeitie^ something, she made a step 
forward and offered her hand. ... /..//- 

“ I had half forgotten she was your friend,” she said 
with a smile, looking back at Lady Blenkensop. 

“ Yes,” answered Lady Blenkensop, with some em- 
phasis, “ her father and mother have been friends of my- 
self and my husband for years'.” 

I remember you told me ; it makes every difference,” 
replied Lady Gilmore, and again she fixed her dark eyes 
oil Nancy’s face' 

“ I hope the children have been good to you? ” she 
said. 

“ Oh, yes,” answered Nancy, smiling. 

“You look very young,” continued Lady Gilmore. 

“ I am nineteen.” ' 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. \ 


39 

“Well, that is not very old ; but I don’t want my girls 
to study too much yet ; I want them to have plenty of play 
and exercise, and a young person like yourself can join 
them and help them in their amusements. Kindly take 
them for a walk in the park every fine day, and if they are 
naughty let me know, but don’t punish them without tell- 
ing me.” 

“The last one slapped us,” said Miss Dorothy, putting 
in her word ; “so mother sent her away.” 

“She was a fool,” said Lady Gilmore, sharply. 

“I am sure both Dossy and Flossy mean to be very 
good to Miss Loftus,” suggested Lady Blenkensop, by 
way of changing the drift of the conversation. 

“Oh, yes ! ” replied both the little girls in one breath. 

The mother looked from one to the other, and then bent 
down and kissed each fair head. 

“ Poor brother is better,” she said softly ; the whole ex- 
pression of her face, changing as she spoke. 

“ Please give our love to him,” said Dossy. “Can we 
not see him yet ? ” 

“No, no,” replied Lady Gilmore; “he has to be kept 
perfectly quiet — but he is better, thank God, thank God ! ” 

She said these last words with deep emotion, and for a 
moment or two afterwards her lips continued as if in silent 
prayer. Then, with a sort of effort, she roused herself, 
and again bowing gravely to Nancy, turned to leave the 
room. 

“Good morning, Miss Loftus,” she said, and passed her 
arm through Lady Blenkensop’s ; and as the two ladies 
proceeded together along the corridor outside, Lady Gil- 
more spoke of Nancy. 

“ You did not tell me she was pretty? ” she said. 

“Did I not?” anwered Lady Blenkensop, with affected 
carelessness. “ I know some people think her pretty ; I 
call her good-looking.’ 

“No, she is pretty,” persisted the other; “with such a 
complexion any woman would be,” and Lady Gilmore 
sighed impatiently. Perhaps she was thinking of the days 
when her Lord had sometimes flouted her with her dark 
skin and sallow cheeks. 


40 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR, 


CHAPTER VI. 

A MYSTERIOUS LETTER. 

Lady Blenkensop left Wrothsley three days after Nancy’s 
arrival there, as she was becoming- anxious to see after 
the welfare of her General and her household, feeling sure 
that both would be most uncomfortable without her. But 
before she quitted the Castle, she promised very soon to 
return. 

“And I shall arrange my next visit so, my dear,” she 
told Nancy, “that I shall be able to take you back with 
me to spend the Saturday and Sunday ; the General I am 
sure will be pleased to see you for your poor father’s sake, 
and then it will please your mother to know that you have 
been on a visit to us. ” 

Nancy thanked her warmly for all her kindness. 

“ My dear, it has been a pleasure to me to be of service 
to you,” replied Lady Blenkensop ; “and I hope you will 
do all you can to please Lady Gilmore. Make no reply 
to any little outbursts of temper which you may have to 
encounter, for Lady Gilmore’s life I fancy has not been a 
very smooth one, and she is excitable and easily upset. 
But if you are gentle and patient with her, I am sure her 
heart is in the right place.” 

“I will try to be,” said Nancy modestly, and after much 
further good advice Lady Blenkensop kissed the girl and 
went away, and Nancy was left to face her new life alone. 

At first it was a very quiet one, for the children and the 
maid who waited on them were the only persons Nancy 
saw to speak to, except on the rare occasions when Lady 
Gilmore visited the schoolroom. Nancy felt too shy to 
wander about the great house alone, but when she and 
her young pupils went out for their daily walk in the park, 
she used sometimes to pause to admire the pictures on 
the grand staircase, while Miss Dossy in very erroneous 
sums explained their great value. 

Then, after having been absent a fortnight, Lady Blen- 
kensop returned for a brief visit to Wrothsley, and before 
she came she arranged with Lady Gilmore that Nancy 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


41 


was to accompany her home, and stay with her a day or 
two. The General rented a country house some twelve 
miles from Wrothsley, called Greystone Lodge, and Nancy 
naturally looked forward with pleasure to the idea of 
going there, as the life she led at the Castle was cer- 
tainly not a very lively one. 

Lady Blenkensop’s arrival therefore caused quite a little 
excitement to Nancy, who eagerly awaited her appear- 
ance in the schoolroom, and Lady Gilmore also received 
her with the warmest welcome. 

“Gilmore is so much better/' she told her as she kissed 
Lady Blenkensop on both cheeks ; “his voice is stronger, 
and it does not tire him to talk a little now.” 

“Then has he explained how he was wounded?” 
asked Lady Blenkensop, with some curiosity. 

Lady Gilmore's radiant expression clouded at this 
question. 

“ I cannot quite make it out,” she answered, “ and — of 
course, this is between ourselves — I fancy he is keeping 
something back. He says he knows nothing about it ; 
that he heard a shot, and the next moment the bullet 
struck him — but I cannot help thinking that with the great 
generosity of his nature he is sheltering someone, for he 
is very reserved on the subject.” 

“ But who could wish to injure him ? ” 

“How can one tell,” answered Lady Gilmore, with 
growing excitement ; “he is young and handsome, and 
some man may be jealous of him. It is all surmise on 
my part, but still I cannot help my thoughts.” 

Lady Blenkensop revolved in her mind at this moment 
whether or not she should tell the anxious mother of the 
cardinal-colored ribbon bow which had been picked up on 
the spot where Lord Gilmore lay wounded, and which 
was still in her possession. There had been a consider- 
able amount of gossip in the neighborhood regarding the 
young Lord’s assailant, and we may be sure that the maid 
who found the bow had not been quite silent on the sub- 
ject. Lady Blenkensop, to do her justice, had, with the 
exception of her husband, and the General had shrugged 
his shoulders when he listened to the story. 

“ Most likely some woman that he has goaded on to 
madness by his inconstancy,” he said ; “I should advise 
you to say nothing about it.” 

Therefore, after thinking a moment, Lady Blenkensop 


42 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


did not speak now. But what Lady Gilmore had told her 
of Gilmore’s reticence confirmed her husband’s idea in her 
mind. 

“As you say, one cannot tell,” she said, quietly ; “it 
may have been a chance shot, and it may have been an 
intentional one ; at all events, it is a great mercy and 
blessing to you that Gilmore is getting well.” 

“ It is more than that ! ” cried Lady Gilmore, fervently ; 
“it is life or death to me. I could not have lived if my 
darling had passed away.” 

“ There is no fear now,” answered Lady Blenkensop 
kindly ; and yet the very next morning a great change 
for the worse took place in Gilmore’s condition. 

This was undoubtedly caused by the arrival of a letter 
which came by the post. Lady Gilmore herself opened 
the postbag in his room, which a servant had just brought 
in, and handed among others a letter to Gilmore in a man’s 
handwriting, which he glanced at carelessly. 

“ I don’t know the writing,” he said, and then tore 
open the envelope with his left hand, which was the only 
one he was allowed to use, the wound being near the 
right shoulder, the bone of which the bullet had broken. 

As he read the first lines of the letter, he started up in 
bed with a hoarse cry. 

“Gilmore! What is it?” exclaimed Lady Gilmore, 
greatly alarmed, hurrying to the bedside. 

“My God! How could she be so mad — the mad, 
mad, girl!” continued Gilmore, who was pale, excited, 
and seemed scarcely conscious of what he was saying. 

“My dear, what has happened? ” implored his mother. 
“ Let me see this letter. ” 

But as she placed her trembling hand on it, Gilmore 
clutched it from her grasp. 

“ You must not see it,” he said hastily, adding the next 
moment almost below his breath, “this is terrible— too 
terrible !” 

He seemed quite overcome, and fell back on the pillows 
as though about to faint, whilst Lady Gilmore stood gaz- 
ing at him, terrified and afraid. Then, after a minute’s 
silence, he again raised himself, and once more read the 
letter he still held grasped in his hand. 

“Give me my check book,” he said, in an agitated 
voice. “ I must send some money at once.” 

“But, my dearest, you cannot write,” faltered Lady 
Gilmore. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


43 


“I must,” he added, imperiously. “Reach me that 
small desk, mother, here, and open that drawer in the 
table there, and hand me the check book.” 

Lady Gilmore dared not refuse, and placed the desk and 
the check book on the bed ; and Gilmore laboriously and 
painfully at once commenced to fill in a check for five 
hundred pounds, payable to a doctor’s name, which he 
again referred to in the le'tter before he wrote it. He then 
turned the check on the blotting pad, and tried to write 
a letter with his stiff, cramped hand, though every word he 
wrote gave him severe pain. Suddenly he dropped his 
pen with a groan. 

“ I can’t do it — it tortures me so,” he half moaned, and 
his pallor grew so great that Lady Gilmore ventured to go 
up to the bed, and knelt down beside it. 

“Let me write it for you, Gilmore,” she prayed, “what- 
ever it is. You can trust me, and you know the doctors 
said you were not to use your„right hand.” 

Again Gilmore groaned and closed his eyes, as if in 
extreme pain, and Lady Gilmore glanced at the few irregu- 
lar lines which he had written, and which lay open on 
the small desk still, after the pen had fallen from his 
powerless grasp. 

“Sir,” she read, “ your news has been a terrible shock 
to me, and I hasten ” 

His strength had failed him here, and Lady Gilmore 
dare ask no questions. She rose hastily, and procured a 
restorative, and held it to his white trembling lips, and 
presently Gilmore revived a little. 

“ Let me finish the letter for you, my dear? ” she half- 
whispered ; and after lying a moment or two in silence, 
and feeling that he was physically incapable of writing 
anymore, Gilmore consented. 

“ Will you address an envelope then to Dr. Robertson — 
yes, that is the name,” and he once more referred to the 
letter he had received, and then named a certain number 
in St. George’s Road, S. W., in town ; “and add below 
what I have written here, that I am not well enough to 
write more ; but that I wish to hear by telegram when he 
receives this— how his patient is getting on— and that he 
must write daily ; and I will send more money whenever 
it is required.” 

As Gilmore paused, exhausted by these directions, 
Lady Gilmore, with a white face and trembling hands, 
prepared herself for her task. 


44 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, \ OR , 


She drew a chair near the bed, and took the little desk 
on her knee, and she noticed as she did so that Gilmore 
with his left hand pushed the letter which had brought 
him the ill news (whatever it was) under his pillow, evi- 
dently for the purpose of concealing it from her eyes. But 
she said nothing ; she wrote the words he had dictated, 
commencing “ Lord Gilmore being too ill to finish this 
letter, he has authorized me to do so,” and then followed 
his directions, all of which she put down without com- 
ment. When she had finished for the first time she raised 
her dark eyes to his face. 

“ What name shall I sign ? ” she asked, with a ring of 
anguish and reproach in her voice she could not quite 
conceal. 

“ I shall try to sign it with my left hand,” answered 
Gilmore, and he did so ; his mother holding the desk 
while he scrawled his name. 

‘‘Now seal it, mother, and send it by a special mes- 
senger to the post ; let not a moment be lost,” he said, as 
he sank back exhausted : and still without a question 
Lady Gilmore left the room to comply with his request. 

When she returned Gilmore was suffering so much pain, 
and seemed so restless and uneasy, that Lady Gilmore 
secretly despatched a telegram to summon the doctors 
from town. She told Lady Blenkensop this, but sup- 
pressed the whole episode of the letter he had received, 
and the answer he had dictated. She did this from a 
feeling of loyalty to him, from the idea that all this had 
been forced on her knowledge only by his helpless con- 
dition. But it made her intensely miserable, this mystery, 
this uncertainty, she told herself, was more to bear than 
even very bitter news. 

She was fated to hear some, however, before the day 
was over. The doctors from town duly arrived, and found 
Gilmore feverish and in pain, and it was soon discovered 
that he had displaced part of the not yet united bone, 
which had to be set again, and for a day or two he was 
very ill. Telegrams and letters came for him constantly, 
and he seemed very anxious to receive these, and again 
dictated a letter to Dr. Robertson, at St. Georges Road, 
expressing his satisfaction that “ his patient ” was improv- 
ing. He made no explanation to his mother as to who 
this “patient” was, and Lady Gilmore crushed back the 
words that rose on her lips, lest her inquiries might either 
hurt or worry this beloved son. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


45 

Lady Blenkensop stayed two days longer at Wrothsley 
than she originally had intended, on account of this relapse 
of Lord Gilmore. And during these two days her quick 
eyes began to perceive that Lady Gilmore was keeping 
something back from her ; that she had some knowledge 
now about her son she did not impart. 

“She has found out something/’ thought Lady Blenken- 
sop a little grimly, but she did not hint this to the poor 
lady whose face had grown thinner and paler, and whose 
dark eyes had a darker shadow around them than usual. 
Nor did she say anything to Nancy Loftus of her suspi- 
cions. She took Nancy and the children out to drive 
with her, and she was a good deal thrown with Nancy, 
as Lady Gilmore scarcely left her son, and Lady Blenken- 
sop was a woman who did not like to be alone. 

She indeed entered with the greatest interest into the 
schoolroom studies, and found, somewhat to her concealed 
amusement, that Nancy was by no means a proficient gov- 
erness ; indeed that she had little or no method in her 
teachings. But it was Lady Blenkensop’s nature to advise 
and direct, and Nancy was too grateful to her not eagerly 
to try and follow her suggestions ; and, finally, when Gil- 
more was a little better again, Lady Blenkensop took 
Nancy home with her for three days, feeling pleased that 
it was in her power to give her young friend this little 
holiday. 

And Nancy was very glad to go, and enjoyed the twelve 
miles’ drive to Greystone Lodge, and looked so bright and 
fresh, and pretty, when she got there, that the general 
declared to his wife she was far too handsome a girl to be 
a governess. 

“Some young fellow is sure to fall in love with her/' 
he told Lady Blenkensop ; and the next day, without first 
asking her leave, he invited two men to dine with them, 
and when Nancy entered the drawing-room before dinner 
she found it already occupied by two strangers. 

One of these was Sir John Oakes, a rich young baronet, 
in a cavalry regiment, which was stationed in the district 
the General commanded, and the other was Mr. Ayde, of 
the same regiment, who also was supposed to be endowed 
with a good fortune. The two men turned round sur- 
prised as the pretty girl went into the room, and then both 
bowed. 

“ Lady Blenkensop will be down directly, I think,” said 


4 6 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, \ OR, 


Nancy, in her sweet voice, as she returned their saluta- 
tions. “ I did not know anyone was here.” 

Sir John Oakes was not good-looking, but he had a pleas- 
ant smile, and was tall and stalwart ; but Mr. Ayde was 
handsome, or rather his features were regular, and he was 
apparently very well satisfied with his own appearance. 

Nancy had a charming manner, and had of course dur- 
ing her poor father s lifetime been accustomed constantly 
to receive and talk to the officers of his regiment, and in 
the most natural way she now began to talk to these 
young men. Therefore, when Lady Blenkensop appeared 
— who had not been over pleased that her General should 
have invited them without her leave — she found quite an 
animated conversation going on, and having shaken hands 
with Sir John Oakes and Mr. Ayde, she said inquiringly : — 

“ Have you met Miss Loftus before ? ” 

“Not had the pleasure,” answered Sir John in his blunt, 
almost school-boy fashion, for this young fellow had only 
recently joined his regiment, and his manner was very 
jerky and unformed. 

Then Lady Blenkensop introduced them formally, and 
Sir John’s round, good-natured brown eyes, seemed unable 
to tear themselves away from the constant contemplation 
of Nancy’s pretty face during the dinner which followed. 

And when Lady Blenkensop and Nancy retired, he 
instantly began to talk of her to the General. 

“Very handsome girl that,” he said, an ingenuous blush 
stealing over his homely yet not unpleasant features. 

“And as good as she is good-looking,” answered the 
General. 

“Does — she live in this neighborhood?” inquired Sir 
John. 

Upon this, the General related Nancy’s pathetic little 
story, and told of her father’s tragic death, and the girl’s 
efforts to help her bereaved mother. 

“I know Gilmore,” said Sir John hastily, when the 
General paused ; and he mentally determined at this mo- 
ment to look up Gilmore, as he would have expressed it : 
and when he, the General, and Mr. Ayde returned to the 
drawing-room, with an effort, and after a moment’s shy 
hesitation, he crossed the room and sat down by Nancy’s 
side. 

“You — you live at Wrothsley, the General tells me?” 
he began. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


47 

“Yes,” and it was now Nancy's turn to blush and hesi- 
tate a second: “I — lam governess to Lady Gilmores 
children.” 

“I have meant forever so long to ride over and inquire 
after Gilmore,” went on Sir John nervously. “I know 
him very well. You know what a terrible business his 
accident was, but he’s getting on all right I hear.” 

“ He was not so well, I believe, the end of last week, ” 
answered Nancy, “but when Lady Blenkensop and I left 
he was better ag*dn.” 

“ You — you know him of course? ” 

“No,” said Nancy, smiling, “I have never even seen 
him.” 

“Oh! he’s rather a good-looking fellow — I wonder 

if ,” and here Sir John paused, and his face grew 

crimson. 

“Well ? ” smiled Nancy. 

“ I meant — I wonder if I rode over to Wrothsley, I 
would — have any chance of seeing you ? ” blurted out the 
young man, and in answer Nancy shook her head. 

“ I am sure you would not,” she said. ** I never see any- 
one there but the children.” 

“But that’s a shame ! ” 

“I am there to look after them, you know.” 

“ Oh, that’s all very fine, but I think it’s a horrid shame 
to shut up anyone — like you — in the schoolroom all 
day.” 

Again Nancy smilingly shook her head ; this young 
man amused her with his boyish manner, and his earnest- 
ness, and the expression of admiration in his brown eyes. 

He talked to her the whole evening in the same simple 
fashion, though Lady Blenkensop presently considered it 
her duty to join in the conversation, and he called at the 
General’s the next day, and sat so long that Lady Blen- 
kensop again considered it her duty to warn Nancy 
against the passing attentions of young officers. 

“They like to amuse themselves with every good-look- 
ing girl they'see, you know,” she said. 

Nancy laughed her fresh girlish laugh. 

“They are not always very amusing to the good-look- 
ing girls though, are they ? ” she answered. 

“No, my dear, but still in your position you ought to 
be very careful.” 

Nancy blushed a little angrily. 


48 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


“You see,” continued Lady Blenkensop, “it would 
never do for you to see anything of Gilmore's friends at 
Wrothsley, and Sir John Oakes knows him, he tells me.” 

“ I do not wish to see Sir John Oakes or any of his 
friends,” said Nancy quickly; so quickly that during the 
day Lady Blenkensop delivered a matrimonial lecture to 
Sir Charles on the folly of introducing young men to Nancy 
Loftus. 

“It might even lose her the excellent situation I took 
such trouble to get for her,” she said. 

“Nonsense,” answered the General, sharply ; “ the best 
thing for the girl would be if she could pick up a good 
husband.” 

“But you know very well young men in the position 
of Sir John Oakes would never think of her seriously now.” 

“Wouldn’t they?” retorted General Sir Charles, who 
was a fiery little man to everyone but his wife ; “if they 
thought of her any way else they would hear of it from me, 

I can tell you.” 

“ Nevertheless Lady Blenkensop was not satisfied about 
this new acquaintance of Nancy’s, and did not urge her 
to remain at Greystone Lodge a day longer than her visit 
had originally been fixed for ; and when Sir John Oakes 
again called at the General’s he found that Miss Loftus was 
gone. 

He was greatly disappointed and went back to the cav- 
alry barracks in the neighboring town, and raved to Mr. 
Ayde of Nancy’s charms, and Mr. Ayde being of a cyni- 
cal turn of mind — or affected to be — was amused at the 
young man’s ardor. 

“Well, I ask you, did you ever see anyone so pretty 
before?” inquired Sir John enthusiastically. 

“I’ve seen someone about equally good-looking, I 
think,” answered Mr. Ayde, smiling; “all the same it’s 
undoubtedly true Gilmore has got a very pretty governess 
to take care of.” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


49 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE FIRST GLIMPSE. 

It must be admitted that Nancy went back to Wrothsley 
feeling not a little hurt and sore on the subject of Lady 
Blenkensop’s remarks about Sir John Oakes. She thought, 
and justly, that they were uncalled for, as she had cer- 
tainly made no effort to attract him ; and if he did chance 
to admire her, what pretty girl is there who feels angry at 
such a natural tribute to her charms ? 

She smiled somewhat archly, therefore, when early on 
the afternoon of the second day, after her return to the 
Castle, she saw from the schoolroom windows, Sir John 
himself riding up to the principal entrance, where he held 
a long parley with one of the footmen, while his eyes 
wandered vainly over the great house. Nancy knew very 
well why he had called, and that his inquiries after Lord 
Gilmore were only an excuse for his appearance ; and she 
was amused also to see how slowly he rode away, and 
what lingering glances he cast around. 

He returned three days later, and this time he was 
admitted, Gilmore having given orders to the effect that 
if Sir John Oakes called again that he would see him. 
Thus the young man obtained his hearts desire, and was 
once more under the same roof with the charming girl he 
so greatly admired, though that roof was so vast he had 
little, if any, chance of ever seeing her. 

But he saw Lord Gilmore ; saw the tall, good-looking 
owner of all this great wealth, lying on a couch pale and 
wan, but still handsome. There was, indeed, no doubt 
about this man’s personal attractions, and in his smiling, 
bright hazel eyes, there was a certain gleam of self-pride, 
a knowledge, as it were, that he had been more favored 
by fortune than his neighbors. He was glad to see Sir 
John Oakes, for he was weary of his sick-room, and some- 
times of his own thoughts, and held out his left hand as 
Sir John entered the room. 

“ Well, Oakes, very good of you to come to see me. 
Excuse my left hand.” 


4 


5 ° 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


“ I should have come before,” replied Sir John a little 
consciously, “but they told me you could see no one. I 
am glad you are getting on all right now.” 

“ I am pulling myself together a bit, but I lost such a 
tremendous lot of blood, you know.” 

“ However did the accident happen ? ” 

Gilmore frowned ever so slightly. 

“ Can’t conceive. Know no more than you do. I 
heard a shot, felt myself hit, and I lay bleeding to death 
until I became unconscious, and then I believe some of 
the keepers found me.” 

“ It’s an extraordinary business.” 

“ Not pleasant to talk of or remember. Well, how 
wags the world with you, old man ? ” 

Sir John was not very bright, but still he saw plainly 
that Gilmore wished to change the conversation, and in 
his simple, boyish way, he did his best to try and amuse 
Gilmore during the next quarter of an hour, all the while 
wondering how he could best introduce the name of Miss 
Loftus. 

At last he blurted it out. 

“ I met someone from here the other day,” he said, 
“ Miss Loftus.” 

“ Never heard of her,” answered Gilmore. 

“ Oh, she’s a tremendously handsome girl,” continued 
young Oakes. “ I never saw such a complexion before, 
and altogether it’s a lovely face.” 

“ My dear fellow,” said Gilmore amused, “is she one 
of the maids? If so, you’ve been more lucky than I 
have, for I have never seen a good-looking one amongst 
them.” 

“ One of the maids ! Of course not,” replied Sir John, 
quite angrily. “ She is Colonel Loftus’ daughter, who 
was killed quite^recently out in India, and she’s here as 
governess to your little sisters.” 

“ All this is highly interesting,” said Gilmore, with a 
light laugh. “Governess to my little sisters? I forget 
where the schoolroom is situated exactly, but I must find 
out.” 

“ Oh, but she’s not a girl that you can talk to like — 
that,” said Sir John eagerly, “she’s a lady, and a proud 
one, too, I can tell you. I met her at Sir Charles Blen- 
kensop’s.” 

“Then, no doubt, she has appeared here through Lady 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


51 

Blenkensop. That good woman has been staying with 
my mother since my illness, and, no doubt, your scho- 
lastic divinity came under her wing/’ 

“ But she’s not a blue-stocking, or anything of that 
kind, you know.” 

‘‘No? And did you come here to-day to call upon 
her, Oakes?” asked Gilmore, a little sarcastically, fixing 
his smiling eyes on the young baronet’s eager face. 

“ Of course not. All the same, I wish I could see her,” 
truthfully answered Sir John. 

“ Let me see — how can I aid love’s young dream ? Ah, 
my dear fellow, take the advice of an older man, and 
keep out of her way, and if she throws herself on yours, 
turn and fly. These sort of women bring nothing but 
trouble. ” 

“ But you don’t understand. She’s a young lady, just 
as much a lady as Lady Mabel Bute, or Miss Cadogan, 
or any of them. Her father was a gentleman, and it’s 
only because he got killed, poor old chap, out pig-stick- 
ing, that she had to do anything, and she does it to help 
her mother, 'who’s got a lot of other children.” 

“She’s a paragon of virtue by your account, but all 
the same, I don’t believe in that sort of thing ; they are 
all pretty much alike.” 

“ You don’t believe in anything good, Gilmore,” said 
Sir John, indignantly. 

“ Yes, I do, I believe in good looks, and a hundred 
other good things ; but I don’t believe in good women, 
nor men either for that matter. But it strikes me you are 
pretty hard hit, old fellow ? ” 

Sir John blushed, but answered manfully : 

“ If you mean that I admire Miss Loftus, I certainly 
do.” 

“ I wonder if I shall admire her,” said Gilmore, with a 
careless laugh : and his manner as he said these words 
made Sir John feel more angry still, and presently he took 
his leave and left Wrothsley without having seen a glimpse 
of Miss Loftus, and feeling that he had done a foolish 
thing to talk of her to Gilmore. 

And he had done a foolish thing, for he had excited 
Gilmore’s curiosity. The young Lord rose from his couch, 
with an amused and languid smile after he left, and went 
and stood leaning against the mantel-piece for a few 
minutes, wondering how he could see the pretty gov- 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


52 

erness without exciting any gossip among the household. 
His mother, he knew, was out of the way, for Lady Gil- 
more had driven over to Greystone Lodge to convey to 
Lady Blenkensop the very handsomest, and most expen- 
sive cloak of sables and velvet that could be purchased in 
town, to replace the one which Lady Blenkensop had 
sacrificed for Gilmore’s benefit. He knew where the 
school-room and the children's rooms were perfectly well, 
though he had affected to Sir John not to do so, for his 
early days had been spent there ; and he knew also that 
the suite of rooms he now occupied was connected by a 
short staircase to the long corridor in which the school- 
room was situated. The door to this staircase was, how- 
ever, always kept locked ; and with a little contemptuous 
smile at his own folly, Gilmore, some ten minutes after 
Sir John left, proceeded slowly to this door, and when he 
reached it perceived that the key was in the lock. 

He turned this, descended the short staircase, though he 
felt the exertion was almost too much for him. But it 
w r as a little adventure, and Gilmore was daring, and weary 
of the monotony of his mother’s society, and so he went 
on. The corridor was of great length, the rooms all be- 
ing on the right side of it, while at the left, here and there, 
a niched window showed views and glimpses of the park. 
Above and around these windows were ancient armor, 
the corridor being actually called the armory, so large 
and valuable was the collection it contained. And as 
Gilmore walked on, with his right arm in a sling, and his 
somewhat languid footsteps supported by a stick, he 
stopped once or twice to examine and admire some of the 
pieces, which he had not actually seen since he was a 
boy, when this corridor had been one of his favorite play- 
grounds. 

He was standing thus, close to one of the windows, 
when a small hand, on what seemed to be a portion of a 
woman’s black gown, attracted his attention. Gilmore 
moved a step forward, and saw a girl lying fast asleep on 
a couch placed in one of the niched windows. He half- 
started as he looked at her; it seemed so unreal this young 
sleeping face, with the rosy lips a little apart ; there be- 
neath the grim weapons of ancient days, frowning down 
upon her. He guessed in a moment who it was — the 
beauty John Oakes had raved about — and as Gilmore 
looked at her, he admitted to himself that the youngster 
had not spoken without cause, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


53 

“A charming face,” he muttered to himself below his 
breath, as he scanned the delicate features, the fair, 
blooming complexion wonderfully contrasted with the 
dark hair and brows. He could not look away ; the white 
throat, the bosom heaving with the placid breath of sleep, 
and the appearance of extreme youth — for Nancy Loftus 
did not look her years — fascinated his beauty-loving eyes, 
and he stood gazing at her until the unconscious Nancy 
slightly stirred. 

On this Gilmore noiselessly as possible drew back. He 
felt it would startle the girl to know that she had been 
watched, and that his sudden appearance in the corridor 
might alarm and embarrass her. As quietly as he could, 
therefore, he retraced his steps, and soon found himself 
on the staircase which communicated with his own suite 
of rooms. He ascended this, and with a sudden thought 
— he could not have entirely explained his reasons, even 
to himself — as he passed through the door leading to his 
own apartments, he turned and locked it and carried 
away the key. 

He laughed softly to himself when he reached his own 
bedroom. He felt excited and amused ; this first glimpse 
of Nancy’s face seemed to have put fresh life into his 
languid pulses and wearied frame, and when an hour or 
so later Lady Gilmore returned, and at once hurried to 
his side, she found Gilmore with a slight flush on his pale 
cheeks, and a brightness in his hazel eyes she had not 
seen there since he was wounded. 

“How well you are looking, my darling ! ” she ex- 
claimed, with almost passionate joy. “I have thought 
of you every moment that I have been away. I was 
afraid you might have been so lonely, so dull.” 

“ I feel much better to-day,” answered Gilmore. 
‘*'1 fancy, mother, I shall be able to go out for a little 
while to-morrow. Well, and how is the energetic Lady 
Blenkensop ? ” 

“ Wonderfully well, and so kind. As soon as you are 
able, Gilmore, you must see her and thank her for all she 
did.” 

“All right. I’ve had a visitor to-day too — John Oakes. ” 

“ Has he been here ? I hope you did not tire yourself 
by talking to him too much, dear? ” 

“ It did me good. He’s rather a nice lad too, but sadly 
youthful for his years. ” 


54 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


“I have scarcely spoken to him ; but had you not better 
lie down now, my dear, I am so afraid of you tiring 
yourself? ” 

Gilmore, after a little persuasion, consented to follow 
this maternal advice, but the sweet face of Nancy Loftus 
haunted him too much to allow him for a long time 
to sleep ; and even when he did sink into a restless slum- 
ber, he dreamt of a girl lying unconscious beneath a sus- 
pended sword. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE FIRST MEETING. 

The next day Gilmore saw from one of the windows 
of his room, Nancy Loftus and her two young pupils 
returning from their usual walk in the park, and he at- 
tracted his mother’s attention to them, who happened to 
be near him. 

“Look mother, there are the chicks ! Who is that girl 
with them ? ” he said. 

“Oh, that is a young person that Lady Blenkensop 
recommended as a nursery governess to them, when you 
were so ill," answered Lady Gilmore, with a certain 
reserve in her tone which amused Gilmore. 

“And how does she suit?” he asked. 

“Very well, I think; she seems a quiet, respectable 
sort of girl.” 

Gilmore asked no more questions, and began talking 
in his careless way of something else. But he insisted 
on going out for a short walk during the same afternoon, 
and felt not a little impatient because his mother persisted 
in accompanying him. He had grown suddenly weary 
indeed of her constant and devoted attendance, and it 
bored him that she watched his every look. Yet he felt 
it would be ungrateful and heartless to show this, and so 
went out with her, choosing to walk up and down the 
terrace extending along the front of the house, and he thus 
passed and re-passed several times the wing where the 
schoolroom was situated. The children saw him from 
the windows, and Miss Dossy, immediately followed by 
Miss Flossy, began wildly waving their handkerchiefs at 
him, which form of salute Gilmore returned, and he 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPT A TIOM. 


55 

thought he caught a passing glimpse of another face be- 
sides ; but it was only for a moment that Nancy looked 
out, and Lady Gilmore, glancing sharply up at the school- 
room windows, saw no appearance of the governess. 

“Call them down, mother, ” said Gilmore. And Lady 
Gilmore therefore sent a message up to Miss Loftus by 
one of the servants, that she was to allow “the young 
ladies to come on the terrace to speak to their brother, 
and very soon the two children were rapturously kissing 
him. 

He chatted to them good-naturedly, promised them all 
sorts of things when he went to town, but he never named 
the person he was really thinking of. 

“Gilmore, do you know we have a new governess?” 
said Dossy presently. 

“Have you? Well, how do you like her?” he 
answered. 

“Oh, awfully. She’s a lady, you know. Lady Blen- 
kensop brought her.” 

“ I hope she keeps you in good order ? ” 

“She never scolds, scarcely. You see she has a little 
sister of her own, and a baby sister, and that makes such 
a difference. The last one was a horrid old maid, wasn’t 
she, mother?” 

“She was a very unpleasant person, at all events,” 
replied Lady Gilmore. 

“And this is really a pleasant young person,” said 
Dossy, authoritatively. “You think her pleasant, don’t 
you mother, and pretty?” 

“I know very little about her,” answered Lady Gil- 
more, repressive! y. “Come, my dears, you will tire your 
brother if you talk any more. Go back now to your 
lessons.” 

Thus the children were dismissed, and in a little while 
Gilmore grew weary, and returned also to the house ; 
but he had got tired of having his mother always by his 
side, and gave her such a decided hint the next time he 
went out, that he would rather go without her, that Lady 
Gilmore abruptly retired from his rooms, and when alone 
in her own, burst into a passionate fit of tears. 

“Ah, he has no heart, no heart!” she cried in bitter- 
ness, “I who would give my life for him — who have 
given more than life ! ” 

But she subdued all signs of this emotion before she 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 


56 

saw him again. She knew too well the pleasure-loving 
temperament he had inherited from his father would 
resent any outburst which made him uncomfortable. 
The late Lord Gilmore had hated the sight of tears, and 
the sound of reproach, as his Dorothy had learnt by bitter 
experience, for if she ever indulged in any displays of 
temper or disappointed affections, he invariably absented 
himself from her presence and remained away long 
enough to bring her to her knees. 

Thus when she saw Gilmore again she smiled on him, 
and hid as best she could the wound that he had given to 
her warm and wayward heart. But he understood her 
nature better than she thought, and was quite aware that 
she had been grieved and angry, but was also aware that 
her continued presence worried him, and Gilmore neyer 
cared to be worried long. 

But she made no attempt to go out with him again un- 
less he asked her. He was gathering strength daily now, 
and walked and sometimes drove about the place, but a 
week passed and he saw nothing more of the pretty face 
that had struck his somewhat fickle fancy. Then, one 
day his mother took the children out with her in the car- 
riage, as she intended paying a visit to their grand-aunt 
Miss Gifford ; an old lady, the sister of the first Lord, and 
who, as she was very rich, naturally expected her relations 
to be attentive to her. 

She lived in the house where her brother, Sir Thomas 
Gifford, the great brewer, had lived before he built Wroths- 
ley. This place was named Gateford Manor House, and 
stood almost in sight of the famous breweries, which had 
made the fortunes of the family. But this lady was not 
like her nephew, the second Lord, for she was not 
ashamed of the breweries, and was full of jokes and wag- 
geries at people quarrelling as she called it, with their 
bread and butter. She also prided herself on speaking 
her mind, and she and Lady Gilmore had never been on 
very amiable terms. Nevertheless her great wealth, and 
great age, made her a person no family could afford to 
slight. Lady Gilmore, therefore, for the sake of her chil- 
dren, put up with the old lady’s sharp words as best she 
could, and took her little girls to see their great-aunt, and 
instructed them not to make any personal remarks on her 
somewhat — to their youthful eyes — quaint appearance. 

She did not ask Miss Loftus to accompany them, and 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


57 

thus Nancy had the prospect of a whole afternoon to her- 
self ; but Gilmore, who knew they were going-, had made 
up his mind, when he heard his mother planning the visit, 
to seize this opportunity of making the acquaintance of 
the handome governess. 

He knew it was but folly to do so, but when Gilmore 
took a whim he always sought to gratify it. And this 
whim was a strong one, for no sooner had he seen his 
mother and the children drive away than he began to 
consider how it would be easiest and safest to see Miss 
Loftus. He thought of again going down the armory, 
but then if she was not there, what excuse could he make 
for entering the schoolroom ? He was still debating this 
question, when, as he stood by one of the windows, he 
saw a slender, girlish figure in black, pass down the ter- 
race below, and descend the flight of marble steps and 
enter the park, and begin to cross it by one of the side 
paths. 

Here was his opportunity ! As fast then as his still 
languid footsteps could carry him, he followed Nancy, but 
to his dismay — for he was too weak to go far — Nancy 
went on and on, until it was all he could do to keep her 
in sight. It was a fine, bright, cold, winter day, and 
Nancy was enjoying her walk, perfectly unconscious that 
her movements were of any interest to anyone. But at 
the West Lodge gate she turned, and began retracing 
her footsteps, and a quarter of an hour later she suddenly 
perceived the figure of the young Lord advancing to- 
wards her. 

She knew at once who it was, though she had never 
before actually seen Gilmore’s face, but had just caught 
a glimpse of him the day the children were waving their 
handkerchiefs to him from the school-room windows. 
But the tall slender form, the arm in the sling, and the 
general bearing made her sure it was Lord Gilmore ; and 
she was about to pass him without raising her eyes, when 
Gilmore stopped directly in front of her, and lifted his 
gray-cloth cap from his handsome head, addressed her 
with a smile. 

“I am sure, he said, “ that I have the pleasure of speak- 
to Miss Loftus ; and I am sure also that my little sisters 
have often talked to you of a certain graceless brother of 
theirs/' 

Nancy blushed and bowed. 


5 8 A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR, 

“ You are Lord Gilmore ? ” she said. 

“ I am that unfortunate person,” answered Gilmore still 
smiling, “and I am very pleased to make your acquaint- 
ance : ” 

“Are you better?” asked Nancy half-timidly ; and for 
a moment she looked up at the good-looking, smiling face 
before her. 

“I am better, but still most abominably weak and 
shaky ; you were not here, were you, when that stray 
shot nearly ended my useless existence ? ” 

“No, I came very soon after though.” 

“May I turn with you, it’s too cold to stand? ’’said 
Gilmore the next moment, and then without waiting for 
any permission he did join Nancy, and commenced 
walking by her side. “Shall I tell you how I first heard 
of you — from Sir John Oakes ;” and Gilmore gave a lit- 
tle laugh. 

“ I met him at Lady Blenkensop’s.” 

“So he told me, but I cannot possibly tell you all he 
said about you ; he made me very curious, I assure you. ” 

Nancy made no answer to this. 

“ He’s a nice enough boy,” went on Gilmore carelessly, 
“his place is not very far from here, you know, and he 
has lately joined a cavalry regiment, and seems very proud 
of his embroidered jacket.” 

“I thought he seemed very good-natured.” 

“ I dare say ; his brains are not of an excitable or of so 
large an order as to prove burdensome I should think. 
What do you say? ” 

Nancy smiled. 

“ I saw so little of him, I could not judge,” she answered. 

“Yet in that short time,” went on Gilmore, also smil- 
ing, “you made an impression on his youthful heart, 
never to be effaced, he informed me.” 

“What nonsense.” 

“ He at all events did not seem to think so ; but let us 
talk of something more interesting than John Oakes — 
tell me something about yourself, and have you not nearly 
died already of dullness in the schoolroom, where the 
hours of my innocent childhood were so happily spent?” 

Nancy gave a little laugh. 

“I found it rather quiet at first,” she said, “because I 
was accustomed to see more people at home, but I get 
on very well with my little pupils.” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


59 

And yet of all the opinionative little monkeys I ever 
came across, that child Dossy is the worst. She airs 
her ideas like a woman of thirty/’ 

“She is sometimes very amusing.” 

“ They must bore you awfully I should think ? ” 

“Oh, no, they don’t.” 

“My mother has taken them to-day to pay court to a 
terrible old relation of ours, whose money-bags are her 
only attraction — a Miss Gifford, who has the honor to be 
my grand-aunt.” 

“They told me they were going — but Lord Gilmore, I 
think I must say good-morning now.” 

“Why?” asked Gilmore, turning round and looking 
at her. 

“ I think it is time for me to go in.” 

Gilmore took out his watch. 

“The mother and the chicks,” he said, “cannot be 
back for two hours yet, so won’t you take compassion 
on me a little longer, Miss Loftus ? Have you ever seen 
over the place ? Seen the conservatories ? ” 

“ No,” hesitated Nancy ; “ but I think ” 

“Do come and see them now then. I dare say, like all 
young ladies, you are fond of a posie ? ” 

“Oh, yes, indeed ! ” 

“Then come and I will gather you one, if you will 
honor me by accepting it? ” 

Nancy felt this was too tempting an offer to be refused. 
She blushed and smiled, and forgot for the moment all 
the excellent advice of Lady Blenkensop, and her awe of 
Lady Gilmore. She went with the young Lord to the 
gardens, which were of immense extent, and finally to the 
lofty conservatory w’hich occupied a central position in a 
long range of well-stocked forcing houses, of which there 
were over twenty. 

“Oh ! how beautiful ! ” cried Nancy, looking round at 
the glowing children of every clime, all here blooming in 
rich luxuriance. 

One of the head gardeners came up to them, hat-in- 
hand at this moment, but with a little haughty nod, Gil- 
more dismissed him. 

“I hate to be bored by those sort of fellows,” he said 
to Nancy; “We did not come here to talk to the gar- 
deners, did we ? ” 

“ I can’t talk, I can only admire,” smiled Nancy ; “I 
love flowers ! ” 


6o 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


“Tell me which you like best ? ” 

“ I cannot tell ! ” 

Gilmore was amused at her rapture ; he kept looking 
from time to time at her blooming face, thinking it was 
fairer than any flower around them, and that she had a 
charm, a beauty that would kindle admiration in the heart 
of an anchorite. 

“The little witch,” he thought, and he smiled softly 
to himself. All the while, however, he went on cutting a 
posie for Nancy, choosing the rarest and most beautiful 
blossoms. 

“This is not a bad place to walk in on a winter after- 
noon,” he said presently. “Will you come here again, 
Miss Loftus ? ” 

“ I — do not know/’ answered Nancy, casting down her 
eyes. 

“ But promise ? ” went on Gilmore, looking smilingly 
at her blushing face. 

“I should like to do so very much — but you know 
now ” 

“ Well, what do I know? 

“I — am always forgetting that I am a governess, I am 
afraid,” said poor Nancy. 

“Please continue to forget it, as you are perfectly 
unlike one ; a governess to my mind should be a middle- 
aged woman, of angular form, a rigid countenance and 
w r ear spectacles — not a lovely girl — but do not think me 
rude ? ” 

“I might wear spectacles,” said Nancy with a soft little 
laugh, and for a moment she raised her bright shining 
dark eyes to Gilmores face. 

“So you might,” he answered laughing also, “but will 
you take them off please when you talk to me ? ” 

“ I must not talk to you any more, Lord Gilmore.” 

“ Oh ! yes, you must, you must ! Not talk to me indeed 
— if I thought you would be so unkind I should do some- 
thing desperate.” 

Nancy suddenly began to feel very uncomfortable, and 
a dim shadow of Lady Blenkensop rose before her mental 
vision. 

“I really must go in now,” she said. 

‘‘Because you think I am talking nonsense ? It’s only 
my way, Miss Loftus, and you must not be angry.” 

4 4 But it is getting late. ” 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPT A TIOJV. 6 1 

“Oh, no, it is not ; let us go into the palm house, and 
walk under the shadow of their big leaves. ” 

And Nancy went, and beneath the green shade of lofty 
palms, and huge banana trees, Nancy found herself talk- 
ing to Gilmore of her life in India, and telling him of the 
beauties and splendors of that wondrous land. 

“ And now my poor father’s grave is there,” she added 
with simple pathos, and Gilmore watching her saw in an 
instant her eyes grow dim. 

“ It was very sad,” he said with ready sympathy. 

“It was more than that : we were looking forward so 
to his coming home — and it nearly killed my mother.’ 

“You must not talk of it,” for Gilmore liked not sad 
subjects ; “ we must try to make your life a little brighter 
here.” 

All this time he was carrying the gorgeous flowers he 
had gathered for her, and presently when Nancy perceiv- 
ed the increasing gloom outside, she insisted on return- 
ing to the Castle, and after urging her more than once to 
remain a little longer, Gilmore was forced to submit, and 
presently the two young people were passing down the 
dim walks of the dusky gardens, for the winter twilight 
had already stolen around them. 

At length they reached one of the entrances, and Nancy 
stopped. 

“1 must say good-evening here,” she said. 

Gilmore held out his hand. 

“Will you make me one promise before you go?” he 
asked. 

“You must tell me what it is ? ’’ 

“That I shall see you sometimes? I shall not soon 
forget the pleasant afternoon I have spent.” 

“Well, perhaps — sometimes,” answered Nancy, pulling 
her hand from his ; and then excited, flushed, and with a 
vague consciousness that she had been doing something 
wrong, she hurried to her own part of the great house, 
and when she reached the schoolroom sat down there, 
breathless, but feeling happier than she had ever done at 
Wrothsley. 

And her flowers, what was she to do with them? Nancy 
now asked herself. They were sure to attract the 
children’s attention if she left them in the schoolroom, 
and the maidservants if she took them to her own room. 
At test she carried them thither, but could not resist plac- 


6 2 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


ing a lovely rose-bud close to her shapely throat. And 
on Miss Dossy’s return, she instantly observed this. 

‘‘What a splendid blossom, ” remarked Dossy, in her 
old-fashioned way. “Where did you get it, Miss Lof- 
tus ? ” 

“ I have been through the conservatories/’ answered 
Nancy with a guilty blush. 

“And one of the gardeners gave it to you ? I am glad 
he did, for they are very mean about their flowers.” 

Nancy allowed this to pass, and then Dossy, echoed 
by Flossy, began to tell of their visit to Gateford Manor 
House. 

“She is an immensely old lady you know, our grand- 
father’s sister, and she says such funny things, mother 
sent us out of the room that we might not hear.” 

“The funny things ” that Miss Gifford had been saying 
to Lady Gilmore, had in the meantime put that lady into 
a state of extreme agitation and alarm. Lady Gilmore 
had not seen her husband’s aunt since Gilmore’s “ acci- 
dent,” as his wound was generally called at Wrothsley, 
and scarcely had she been five minutes at the Manor 
House, before Miss Gifford began on the subject. 

“Well, my Lady,” said the old woman fixing her bleared 
eyes on Lady Gilmore’s sallow face, and calling her “ My 
Lady,” with a touch of derision on her ancient tongue, 
“so you’ve had fine doings at Wrothsley since I saw 
you.” 

“You mean about Gilmore’s dreadful accident ? ” 

“Accident?” sharply replied the old spinster, “ I’m told 
it was no accident ; that some woman had a finger in the 
pie.” 

“ Go out of the room into the gardens, Dossy and Flos- 
sy,” said Lady Gilmore to her little girls, with suppressed 
emotion, and when they obeyed her, she turned to Miss 
Gifford in some excitement 

“You should not say such things before the children,” 
she said, in an agitated voice ; “it — is mere gossip — 
Gilmore was shot by accident, I believe by some 
poacher.” 

“A poacher with a petticoat then I am told,” chuckled 
the old lady. “There are fine stories afloat about it, I 
can tell you ; they say some woman shot Gilmore in a 
jealous rage, and then shot herself. Ay, ay, he’s just like 
his father — always after the women,” 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPTA TION. 6 3 

“I — I — cannot sit and listen to this ! ” said Lady Gil- 
more, rising excitedly. 

“ Its true enough for all that,” went on old Miss Gif- 
ford ruthlessly, “it’s in the blood, even Thomas the old 
man couldn’t pass a pretty girl without turning to look 
after her, and we all know what your husband was, and 
this young fellow is the same, I suppose. You should 
get him married, my Lady, there are plenty of handsome 
girls without money, who would take him for his.” 

Every word of this speech was a fresh stab into the heart 
of the wayward, passionate, and loving woman who lis- 
tened to it, and the old dame who spoke it from her 
toothless jaws was quite aware of this, and relished in 
her grim way the pain she was inflicting. 

There she sat, wrinkled, aged and infirm, but hard and 
bitter still. She had sprung from a different class to the 
high-born Dorothy Vaux, who had married her nephew, 
and remembered when Thomas Gifford her brother had 
started his first brewery with great pride and uplifting of 
heart. And she knew the lady before her had been ashamed 
of the breweries, though she partook of the wealth 
they had brought, and therefore Miss Gifford enjoyed re- 
minding Lady Gilmore of things she would fain have 
forgotten. 

“ Yes, you should get him married,” she repeated again 
presently, and these words from the grand-aunt were still 
ringing in Lady Gilmore’s ears when she returned to 
Wrothsley, after her very unpleasant visit to Gateford 
Manor House. 

“Perhaps she is right,” thought the anxious, restless 
mother of the young man, who at this moment, was sit- 
ting smoking and smiling softly to himself, when he 
thought of the pretty girl with whom he had lately wan- 
dered beneath the palms. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE MOTHER’S CHOICE. 

Lady Gilmore thought more and more during the next 
few days of the grand-aunt’s advice about getting a wife 
for her son, and cast anxiously over in her mind the at- 
tractions of the different girls he would be likely to admire. 


64 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


She knew he loved beauty, therefore a pretty or hand- 
some face was essential. There was a Lady Mabel Bute, 
that at one time she had hoped Gilmore would fall in love 
with, a haughty, young, lovely girl, the daughter of a 
Duke, and so even in Lady Gilmore’s eyes almost worthy 
of her son. But if there really had risen any scandal 
about Gilmore, and Lady Gilmore knew the grand-aunt 
too well to believe she would invent one, for the old lady 
had a sharp but truthful tongue, would Lady Mabel with 
her high rank and large fortune be allowed by her parents 
to marry him ? 

Lady Gilmore debated this question again and again in 
her mind, and then bethought her of a pretty, bright 
young girl, who had been presented during the last sea- 
son, and greatly admired. She was the Hon. Kate Butler, 
the daughter of a poor Irish Viscount, and her youth and 
beauty were supposed to be all the possessions she would 
bring to her husband. Lady Gilmore had heard her son 
praise Miss Butler’s good-looks, and had seen Miss Butler’s 
bright, sparkling, Irish blue eyes light up with pleasure 
when Gilmore was talking to her ; and as she came of an 
ancient, noble, though impoverished family, Lady Gil- 
more at last decided that if she could arrange it, Miss 
Butler would be a suitable wife for her son. 

And there was no time like the present, she decided 
also. Gilmore was now weak and languid, and a bright 
lively girl would help to cheer him, and have a hundred 
more chances of gaining his love when he had nothing 
else to amuse him, than she would have in town ; and 
therefore Lady Gilmore determined forthwith to invite 
Miss Butler to stay at Wrothsley, and she had little doubt 
that Miss Butler would only be too delighted to come. 

She did not confide her intentions to Gilmore ; she knew 
too well if he supposed she were scheming to bring about 
the match, that it would entirely set his mind against it. 
And Miss Kate Butler had also another attraction, and a 
great one in her eyes. She was of her own creed, and 
came like herself of an old Roman Catholic family, and 
as Gilmore was utterly careless on such subjects, she 
knew this would be a matter of indifference to him. 

She therefore wrote a letter to this young lady’s mother, 
whom she knew fairly well, asking her if she would allow 
her pretty daughter to come to Wrothsley on a visit of a 
week or two, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATLON. 


65 

“ It will be the greatest possible kindness if she will do 
so,” continued Lady Gilmore, “ for we are not receiving 
anyone at present, on account of the terrible accident, of 
which you may have heard, that befell poor Gilmore. 
He was accidentally shot in one of the thickets in the 
park, by poachers, and found by two of the keepers in a 
state that I dare not think of. He is now much better, 
however, and can move about the house a little, but still 
has to be very quiet. Thus, though I fear it will be 
dull for Kate, it would be a charity if she would come to 
cheer us up a little, with her lively charming ways, and I 
am sure Gilmore would be delighted to see her,” and 
so on. 

The lady to whom this letter was addressed was a 
shrewd woman, and she at once guessed why it was 
written. Lady Lisburn knew there had been a scandal 
about Gilmore, but she knew also that they were poor, 
and that her pretty daughter would have no fortune, and 
that her eldest son was extravagant, and her lord terribly 
pinched, and that Gilmore was very rich. 

“His mother wishes him to settle, I suppose,” she 
mused, and she also wished her handsome sprightly Kate 
to settle, and she knew Kate liked Gilmore, and had al- 
ways been very pleased at any attentions from the good- 
looking young lord. 

She did not confide her thoughts to Lord Lisburn, for 
they were never on very amiable terms, as there was con- 
stant trouble about money between them, but she partly 
did to her daughter Kate, and the quick girl instantly 
understood. 

“ Here is a letter from Lady Gilmore,” she said to Miss 
Butler, “ and she wishes you to go and stay at Wrothsley 
for a week or two — to enliven Gilmore, I suppose, after 
his accident,” she added with a smile. 

“Poor fellow, is he better?” answered the girl with 
a quick blush. 

She was a tall, slender young woman this, with regular 
features, bright dark blue eyes with dark brown lashes, 
brows and hair, and a clear, indeed brilliant, complexion. 
Her movements were quick and the expression of her 
face ever changeful, and there was a certain impatience 
sometimes in her manner ; in the way she threw back her 
head which reminded you of what her father called her 
mother’s “confounded tempers,” for Lady Li§bur» and 

5 


66 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


her lord rarely passed a day together without some sharp, 
nay, bitter words being exchanged between them. 

“Would you like to go ? ” continued Lady Lisburn, 
looking at her daughter. 

“ May I see the letter ? ” said Miss Butler. 

Lady Lisburn put it into her hand, and as Miss Butler 
read it, her color deepened. 

“Yes, I think I should/' she added, after she had read 
it ; “it must be dreadfully dull for poor Gilmore — I could 
go from the Cadogans' there, mother, couldn’t I ? ” 

‘ ‘ So you could, my dear, that will be a very good 
arrangement, and you are due at the Cadogan’s in the 
middle of next week ? Shall I write and tell Lady Gil- 
more that you will be able to be with her in about a fort- 
night ? ” 

The mother and daughter settled it thus, and they both 
quite understood what this visit meant, for it was well- 
known that Lady Gilmore watched over her son with the 
most jealous care, and was very unlikely to invite a hand- 
some young girl under her roof while Gilmore was an 
invalid, unless she had some motive for it. 

But scarcely was Lady Gilmore’s invitation duly ac- 
cepted, when she began to be afraid that she had been 
rash in sending it. Would Gilmore be angry ? she re- 
flected ; and did she know enough of Kate Butler to justify 
her in throwing her son into such intimate acquaintance 
with her? And would the Lisburns perhaps expect that 
he intended to propose to Kate, when he had not got the 
slightest idea of the whole scheme ? 

These doubts and fears tormented the anxious mother 
incessantly during the first few days after she received 
Lady Lisburn’s reply, and when a week later, she men- 
tioned to her son that she had had a letter from Lady 
Lisburn, and that Kate was coming on to them after she 
ended her visit to the Cadogan’s, an annoyed expression 
at once passed over his face. 

“ What a bore,” he said, “cannot you put her off 
mother ; I really am not strong enough to be expected 
to make myself agreeable to Kate Butler ? ” 

“I thought you admired her, Gilmore?” 

“So I do in a way, she’s a pretty girl, but too excessively 
lively for me at present, please make some excuse not to 
have her.” 

Here was a pretty dilemma for Lady Gilmore to find 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPT A TION. 6 7 

herself in. She had invited the Hon. Kate especially to 
enliven Gilmore, and Gilmore did not appreciate it, and 
asked for the very young lady to be put off whom she had 
hoped he would marry ! 

“My dear, I cannot refuse to have her for a day or two,” 
she said, with a troubled heart, “ for I have already written 
to Lady Lisburn to tell her so.” 

“It’s a nuisance,” answered Gilmore crossly, and then 
he turned away, thinking that Miss Kate Butler would be 
very much in the way at present. 

The truth was that since the day Gilmore had met 
Nancy Loftus in the park, and walked with her beneath 
the spreading palms, he had never for a moment been 
able to get her sweet face out of his mind. And she had 
also piqued him by avoiding him, or at least not going to 
meet him as he asked her. He had spoken to her twice 
since, but this was only after a great deal of trouble on 
his part, and Gilmore was not used in his love affairs to 
give himself much trouble. 

Their two meetings had happened thus. Lady Gilmore 
had directed Nancy to take the children out each fine or 
tolerable morning for a walk in the park at twelve o’clock, 
before their early dinner, and Nancy had obeyed. It 
chanced to be a very fine winter morning the day after 
Nancy had first talked to Gilmore, the sun bright, the hoar- 
frost hiding the pinched grass, and shining on the branches 
of the great trees, and fringing the leaves of the evergreens 
with white. A glorious morning, that sent^young blood 
dancing in the veins, and made blooming cheeks more 
beautiful, and bright eyes more bright, and Nancy feeling 
light-hearted and exhilarated, went walking swiftly on 
between her two young pupils, with one of Gilmore’s roses 
nestling in the boa round her throat. 

“Is that the rose you wore last night, Miss Loftus?” 
inquired curious Miss Dossy. 

“Why do you ask?” answered Nancy, with a little 
laugh. 

“ Because it struck me it was not, you must be quite a 
favorite with Johnson, the head-gardener, if he gives you 
roses like that, as he is a great screw.” 

Again Nancy laughed, and then suddenly blushed, for 
she perceived at this moment, Gilmore on one of the cross 
walks from the main-road, now coming towards them. 
The children at the same instant also saw him, and 
proclaimed the news with cries of joy. 


68 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


“Look, Miss Loftus ! there is Gilmore — there, under 
the trees — we must run to him.” 

They suited their actions to their words, and at once 
darted off to meet Gilmore, who accompanied by them 
a few minutes later approached the spot where Nancy 
stood, scarcely knowing what to do. 

But Dossy solved the question. 

‘‘This is our governess, Miss Loftus, Gilmore,” she 
said ; and Gilmore smilingly raised his cap, and looked 
more smilingly still at Nancy’s blooming lovely face. 

“ It’s a splendid morning, ” he said ; “and so you young 
ladies are having a walk ? ” 

“Yes,” faltered Nancy in some confusion, “Lady 
Gilmore wishes them to go out each morning.” 

“Quite right; do you never go down the avenue to 
the lake.” 

“Oh, let us go there to day, Gilmore,” cried both the 
little girls in one breath, “it is so lovely to see the water- 
fowl, and the little islands — do let us go, Miss Loftus ? ” 

“Is it not too far?” asked Nancy, for the park was a 
great place, and extended over an area of quite fourteen 
miles in circumference, and in the summer-time was 
beautiful with its green and varied slopes, its lake, and 
magnificent trees, beneath which the dappled deer browsed 
and the wild birds sang. Sir Thomas Gifford when he 
bought Wrothsley. had pulled down the old Hall that 
stood amid its woods and wilds, and had reared the 
stately pile he considered suitable to his new state. 

And he had spared neither money nor care on the great 
Elizabethan mansion that he built. It’s well-balanced 
masses, and the magnificence of its details made it a 
show house in the county, and the old man had been 
proud of it, and was never weary of pointing out its 
beauties to friends that he had known in humbler days, 
and would boast of the vast sums that the pictures alone 
had cost him, and beautiful statuary, marble mantel-pieces 
and the Aubuseen tapestry. 

The lake was a lovely spot, quite a mile-and-a-half 
from the house, and Nancy had never seen it, but urged 
now by Gilmore to comply with the children’s request, 
she consented to go. Presently the little girls ran on, and 
she was virtually alone with Gilmore. 

“Do you know I have watched and waited over an 
hour this morning to see you,” he said, when the children 
were out of hearing. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATLON. 


69 

Nancy felt greatly embarrassed by this speech, for more 
than once during the morning she had taken herself to 
task, and had told herself it would never do for her to be 
seen walking with the young Lord. 

“You promised to talk to me sometimes, you know, 
before you ran away yesterday,” continued Gilmore, “so 
you will forgive me watching for you, won't you ? ” 

“I hope you won’t do so anymore, Lord Gilmore,” 
said Nancy nervously ; “You see Lady Gilmore would 
not like it — it will only bring me trouble. ” 

“I have thought of that too,” answered Gilmore, “for 
women are so absurd about some things, and my mother 
has a very jealous and exacting nature, but still we could 
meet, you know, on the quiet?” 

“ I could not do that,” said Nancy, raising her head a 
little proudly. 

“Do not misunderstand me, please; I only meant that 
to avoid the confounded gossip and talk, that some peo- 
ple will make about nothing, we could arrange some 
place where we could see each other, and have a pleas- 
ant chat like we had yesterday. It must be horribly dull 
for a young girl like you to be shut up in a schoolroom 
all day with two children. ” 

“Governesses are not supposed to lead gay lives, you 
know,” replied Nancy a little archly. 

“ That is all nonsense ; it is a pleasure to me to talk to 

you, and unless you dislike it ” 

Nancy’s deepening blush was her only answer, and as 
Gilmore turned to look at her, he caught a glimpse of the 
rosebud nestling by her throat. 

“ At least you honor me by wearing my poor flowers,” 
he said, well-pleased. 

“But even that has nearly got me into trouble already,” 
said Nancy smiling ; “Miss Dossy immediately inquired 
if one of the gardeners had given it to me.” 

“ Tiresome monkey ! ” 

“ So you see, Lord Gilmore ” 

“ I don’t see it at all. Will you come down to the con- 
servatories again this afternoon ? ” 

“Certainly not.” 

“ To-morrow, then ? ” 

“No, indeed.” 

“Ah, Miss Loftus, don’t be so hard. What possible 
harm could there be in your walking with me for half an 
hour? ” 


70 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


“No harm, but as I said before, Lady Gilmore would 
not like it.” 

“ But I would like it I want to be friends with you ; 
I feel almost as if we were friends already.” 

“Yeti have only spoken to you once,” said Nancy 
shyly. 

“What matter is that ? I know when I like people the 
first time I speak to them, don’t you?” 

“Yes, I think I do,” answered Nancy, still more 
shyly. 

“Then don’t tell me you hate me, please. Ah, here 
are the tiresome brats again ! ” 

Dossy and Flossy now rejoined them, and Gilmore tried 
in vain to shake them off. Dossy related to her brother 
how their great-aunt had said such “funny things” the 
afternoon before, that “ mother ” had sent them out of the 
room. 

“I believe they were about you, Gilmore,” she added, 
raising her blue eyes to his face. “ It was about your ac- 
cident she was talking, and she said she had heard some 
woman had a finger in the pie.” 

A scarlet flush instantly rose to Gilmore’s face. 

“ What folly !” he said hastily and angrily. “What a 
fool that old woman is, to be sure ! ” 

“And she made mother as cross as two sticks,” contin- 
ued Dossy ; “altogether we had a bad time of it, and 
Miss Loftus was far better off. She went over the con- 
servatories when we were away, and Johnson the gar- 
dener gave her two of his best roses.” 

Nancy could not help laughing at this, and a moment 
later Gilmore laughed too. But there was a frown on his 
brow still, and after they reached the lake he parted with 
them. But before he did so he had a word to whisper to 
Nancy which the sharp Dossy did not hear, as she was 
taken up at this moment in watching some water-fowl on 
one of the little islands on the lake. 

“Please come down to the conservatories to-morrow at 
four,” said Gilmore in a low 'tone, “ I’ve something to tell 
you ; ” and the next moment, before Nancy could reply, 
he had taken off his cap and left them. 

“Why has Gilmore gone away?” asked Dossy look- 
ing around. 

“He is tired, I suppose,” answered Nancy, and she 
stood thoughtfully for a few minutes looking at the lake, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


71 


and at the water pouring down over the rocks at its side 
and forming numerous mimic cascades which sparkled in 
the sun. 

“ I must not go,” the girl was thinking ; “ no, I must 
not go.” 

And she did not go to meet Gilmore on the following 
afternoon, and as he went to meet her, and lingered until 
nearly six o’clock, before he returned to the house, he 
went back both angry and disappointed. And in vain 
also he waited for Nancy and her pupils on the two 
following mornings. One was wet and they did not go 
out, and the other somehow Gilmore missed them. Nancy 
was afraid, indeed, to meet him again, and avoided going 
on the walks where they had twice met. But the day be- 
fore his mother told him of her invitation to Miss Butler, 
he did accidentally encounter them, and seized a moment 
when he thought Dossy was not listening to reproach 
Nancy for disappointing him. 

“What have I done that you should treat me so?” he 
asked. “I waited for you two hours that afternoon in 
the conservatories.” 

“Indeed, Lord Gilmore, I cannot meet you,” answered 
Nancy with a deep blush. 

“ What are you saying, Gilmore, that makes Miss Lof- 
tus’ face turn sored ? ” now inquired Miss Dossy inquisi- 
tively. 

“ Don’t be rude, Dossy,” said Gilmore with some anger 
in his tone. 

“I must say good-morning ; we are going in,” said 
Nancy, and as they were within sight of the house, Gil- 
more thought it more prudent to take off his cap and turn 
away. 

But as he went along one of the glades of the park, he 
was still thinking of Nancy Loftus. 

“Ah, my little beauty,” he thought, “you may be as 
cold to me as you like now, but the day will come when 
you will not be — yes, I swear it” 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, \ OR , 


7 * 


CHAPTER X. 

THE SON’S CHOICE. 

Thus Gilmore thought that the arrival of Miss Butler at 
Wrothsley at the present time would be very inconvenient, 
and so he had asked his mother to put her off. He wanted 
to see Nancy, and he was determined to see her, and he 
felt that Miss Butler’s presence might make it more diffi- 
cult. But for once Lady Gilmore was firm, and held out 
against her son’s will. She thought indeed, that it was 
impossible for her to make an excuse to Lady Lisburn, 
and so she told Gilmore to his great annoyance. 

“It will only be for a few days you know, my dearest, 
and I am sure Kate Butler is such a charming girl she will 
help to amuse you,” said Lady Gilmore, not speaking the 
exact truth about the time she meant Miss Butler’s visit to 
continue. 

Gilmore gave an expressive gesture of disapproval, for 
he thought of another amusement on which his mind was 
bent, and therefore he did not wish to be troubled with 
Miss Butler. But Lady Gilmore kept to her purpose, and 
Miss Butler arrived at Wrothsley on the day which had 
originally been fixed. 

But in the meanwhile Gilmore had succeeded in obtain- 
ing another interview with Nancy, which in a way was 
one momentous to them both. And, strange to tell, the 
grim old woman at Gateford Manor House was the per- 
son of all others who helped him to obtain his heart’s de- 
sire. Miss Gifford, though she never did, nor never cared 
to keep her bitter tongue quiet, was by no means indifferent 
to family ties, and therefore wrote one day at this time, to 
invite Dossy and Flossy to spend a day with her ; and 
Lady Gilmore, however incensed and hurt she might be 
at the grand-aunt’s remarks, thought it but prudent to let 
them go. 

And Dossy and Flossy had been in Gilmore’s way all 
this time ! It could not be supposed that when he was 
so anxious to see Nancy Loftus, that he had forgotten the 
corridor where he had played as a boy, and where he had 
first seen her sweet face. He had thought of it, indeed, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


73 


many times, and no scruples that it was not quite fair to 
the young governess to enter it, had caused him to forbear 
doing so. Gilmore, in fact, was not scrupulous, but he 
was afraid of his little sisters’ prattling tongues. Well know- 
ing that if it came to his mother’s ears that he frequented 
the corridor, which had always been given up to the chil- 
dren of the family and their governesses, that the present 
governess — if she were supposed to be the attraction — 
would have a very brief sojourn beneath the roof. 

He had locked away the key of the door which opened 
on the staircase that led to it, and been amused one day 
by hearing two of the housemaids shaking the door, and 
declaring the key must be lost. But they settled it was 
no matter, as the staircase was never used. “We can 
brush it down from the other side,” they said, “when 
we do the armory and the rooms there.” Thus Gilmore 
had his key all safely in his own possession, and the after- 
noon that Dossy and Flossy went to Gateford, he deter- 
mined to use it. 

“ I am going to have a smoke, and then to lie down,” 
he said to his mother after lunch, ‘ ‘ it’s too cold to go out. ” 

“ Then I'll drive over for the children,” answered Lady 
Gilmore, who felt he was tired of her company, and as 
the children had gone in the morning to their great-aunt’s 
she thought by this time she would consider she had had 
enough of them. 

Gilmore having thus secured an afternoon to himself, 
was determined not to waste it, and very soon found his 
way to the door of which he alone held the key, and having 
opened it, re-locked it from the other side, and then de- 
scended the staircase, and speedily found himself in the 
long corridor, known as the armory at Wrothsley. 

He went slowly down this, wondering what excuse he 
could make for rapping at the schoolroom door when he 
reached it, but as he walked on he perceived this would 
be unnecessary, for before him, her back turned to him, 
her arms flung carelessly back also, and her hands clasped 
behind her, was Nancy Loftus herself, singing in a low 
undertone as she went on. 

Gilmore quickened his footsteps, and a moment later 
the girl heard them, and turned swiftly round. A flush 
rose at once to the clear skin, and she gave a little start 
when she saw who it was, and then she smiled. 

“ I hope I did not startle you? ” said Gilmore. 


“But I 


74 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


came here to look at some of this old armor, and I am 
happy to have met you/' 

“ I often walk up and down here/’ answered Nancy. 

“And those little plagues are not here to bother you 
to-day ? ” 

“ No, they have gone to their grand-aunt’s. ” 

“ So I was delighted to hear, and ever since I did hear 
it — shall I make a confession, Miss Loftus ? ” 

“If it pleases you,” smiled Nancy. 

“Well, ever since I heard it then I have been planning 
on what excuse I could see you — and I found one in the 
old armor you perceive.” And Gilmore laughed as he 
pointed to the walls. 

Nancy looked grave for a moment, and then she laughed 
softly too. 

“ Do not be angry with me? ” said Gilmore. 

“ I think I ought to be.” 

“No, please do not ; I have wanted to see you every 
day, you know, since we talked together under the palm 
leaves. ” 

“ But we cannot see each other every day, Lord Gilmore.” 

“ I wish we could, that is all I can say, most earnestly 
wish it.” 

Nancy did not speak for a moment. 

“And now at least, when we have the chance, you will 
not send me aw’ay, will you ? My mother has gone to 
Gateford to fetch the children home, and we have the 
afternoon to ourselves, may I stay with you ! ” 

Nancy hesitated, blushed, and Gilmore could see that 
his request had slightly agitated her. 

“Let us walk up and down here,” he went on, “and 
talk of all sorts of things. By-the-bye, I am going to be 
bored out of my life, d’ye know ? ” 

“And how is that?” asked Nancy, with interest, look- 
ing at him. 

“That good mother of mine has invited a young 
woman to stay here, yclept Miss Kate Butler, to amuse 
me forsooth ! ” 

“ Well, and is she pretty ? ” asked Nancy, with curiosity. 

“People call her pretty,” answered Gilmore, delighted 
by these signs of interest. “ She’s a lively, rattling Irish 
girl, up to all sorts of mischief I should say.” 

Then she will be a very amusing companion ; you won’t 
be dull any longer, Lord Gilmore.” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


75 


“ Oh, won’t I ! I know who I should rather talk to one 
short half-hour than to Miss Kate Butler all day.” 

“Iam quite curious to see this young lady — is she tall 
or is she little ? ” 

“Tall and straight as a river-reed, she wants a certain 
softness to my mind — a grace, a charm — that some people 
possess. ” 

“And when is she coming? ” 

“Very soon I believe, in a day or two I think, but I 
hope she will not stay long.” 

“ You may change your mind on that subject.” 

“I don’t think I shall, the very idea bores me — may I 
come and talk to you sometimes when she is here?” 

“ No, I am sure you may not, you will not want to talk 
to me then.” 

“But I will indeed — if you knew how I think of no 
one else ” 

“Lord Gilmore, you must not talk thus.” 

“ Forgive me, but you don’t seem to believe me; you 
do not seem to understand how much I am in earnest.” 

“About what? ” smiled Nancy a little saucily. 

“About my great admiration for you, my eager desire 
to see more of you.” 

“But we really cannot see each other, Lord Gilmore, 
I — I told you why, you know.” 

“Yes, I know you did, but I cannot give it up.” 

Nancy was silent for a moment, and then she turned 
her charming face and looked at him with her soft, shining 
dark eyes. 

“I told you our sad little story, did I not?” she said. 
“ How my dear father was killed in a moment, and my 
mother left very, very poor— -so poor,” added Nancy with 
emotion, “that you who are rich cannot understand it — 
and Lady Blenkensop who is an old friend of ours, got me 
this situation here, so that I might be able to assist my 
mother — and, and — I must not risk my mother’s bread.” 

Gilmore was moved ; moved by the girl’s beauty ; and 
by her sweet voice, and the unconscious pathos of her 
words. 

“You make me feel almost a brute!” he said impet- 
uously, “a selfish brute — and yet ” 

“ I do not wish to make you feel that, for I am sure 
you are not selfish, but you see I am obliged to think of these 
things." 


76 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


“But it seems so hard — a young girl like you.” 

“ But a young girl who has gone through a lot of trouble, ” 
said Nancy with rather a sad smile. “I told you how 
strange it all seemed to me when I first came here; and 
when I was at lady Blenkensop’s, just because Sir John 
Oakes talked to me a little, Lady Blenkensop gave me 
quite a lecture, and told me it would never do for me now 
to speak to young men.” 

“Lady Blenkensop is an old fool, begging her pardon 
and yours for calling her so — to talk such nonsense. 
Does she think she can make young men blind, and ex- 
pect them not to admire a lovely face when they see 
one ? But I shall do everything you tell me — I shall never 
weary nor worry you — if you will tell me one thing? ” 

“And what is that?” 

“If you were not here as the children’s governess, would 
you have cared to talk to me sometimes?” 

“ That is hardly a fair question. ” 

“Yet I should like you to answer it.” 

“You mean if I were here as your mother’s guest, like 
the young lady who is coming ? ” 

“Yes, in that case, would you have cared to talk to 
me ? ” 

“ I think I should,” answered Nancy, modestly, and 
sweetly, and with such a charming blush and smile, that 
Gilmore was completely enraptured. 

“I am so glad, so happy,” he said eagerly. “Now I 
shall feel I do not bore you by trying to see you, and I 
shall not forget what you have told me about your family 
circumstances, and I shall never expose you to any annoy- 
ance, — you can quite trust me?” 

“ I believe I can.” 

Thus these young people came to an understanding in 
the fast gathering gloom of the winter afternoon, and as 
they walked up and down the long corridor together, poor 
Nancy almost forgot all Lady Blenkensop’s warning 
words. As for Gilmore, he felt happy and excited to no 
ordinary degree. This beautiful girl was not quite indif- 
ferent to him then, he was thinking, and the thought was 
very pleasant to him. 

They talked after this, of books, of theatres, of picture- 
galleries, but the common-place subjects did not seem 
common-place, nor the time long as the dusky shadows 
stole around them. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


77 

* Have you any decent books to read ? ” asked Gilmore 
suddenly. 

“I have the school books/’ answered Nancy smiling, 
“ and I study grammar lest Miss Dossy should ask me 
any questions, I should feel unable to answer.” 

“What a shame ! I have heaps of novels lying about 
since my illness, I must lend you some.” 

“ It will really be a great treat to me.” 

“I am so pleased I thought of it. Shall I go and fetch 
you some now. Do you see that door there, MissLoftus, 
at the end of the corridor? ” 

“Yes, I see it.” 

“That leads to a staircase which opens into my part of 
the house ; the door is always kept locked though, but 
luckily I found the key, therefore I can bring books or 
flowers, or anything to you without anyone else being the 
wiser.” 

“ But — ” demurred Nancy, as this proposal seemed 
rather alarming. 

“ It will be such a pleasure to me,” urged Gilmore, and 
Nancy was not strong-minded enough to refuse. 

They parted with the agreement that he was to bring 
her some books on the following afternoon, and that she 
was to leave the children in the schoolroom, and go down 
to the end of the corridor to receive the books. 

“ Do not quite forget me in the meantime,” said Gilmore 
almost tenderly, and Nancy left him with a beating heart, 
and a rosy glow on her rounded cheeks. 

Yet the flush of excitement died quickly enough out of 
Gilmore’s face after he had returned to his own room, as 
he sat down to reflect on the interview which had just 
ended. He knew well enough he was playing a danger- 
ous game, and running certain risks which already had cost 
him so dear. But he was not one to stop half-way. He 
had been spoilt from his youth upwards, and everything he 
had wished for had always been his, and now his coveted 
toy was this young girl’s love. 

“ Poor little woman,” he thought softly, “ how pretty 
she looked when she talked of not risking her mother’s 
bread — well, she won’t do that, anyhow, but I’m not 
going to give her up. I can’t, that’s the truth; and the 
other,” and Gilmore frowned, “ deserves little forbearance 
from me now,” 


78 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


CHAPTER XI. 

A FIRST SUSPICION. 

Three days later the Hon. Kate Butler arrived at Wroths- 
ley, and Lady Gilmore gladly welcomed her. She was 
a clever, bright-looking girl, and undoubtedly handsome, 
and she had one fixed purpose in life, of which however 
she did not speak. She meant to marry well, and she 
knew that Lord Gilmore was very rich, and that he was 
also good-looking, and, for the rest, what did it matter ? 
She had been brought up in a bad school, a school of 
wrangling and bitterness, of poverty and debts, and her 
heart had not softened in it, but had grown hard and 
strong. 

“I am good-looking,” she often told herself, “and 
I mean not to throw my looks away,” and she was not 
one to lightly change her mind. 

She therefore returned Lady Gilmore’s greeting with the 
greatest effusion, and expressed the utmost delight at the 
prospect of her visit. 

“It is so good of you to come,” said Lady Gilmore, 
“ when we are so quiet; Gilmore, I am thankful to say, 
is gathering strength fast, but still his arm pains him very 
much sometimes — ah, my dear, we have had a dreadful 
time.” 

“It must have been too dreadful ! I never was so 
shocked, so horrified ; and the wretched man who did it 
has never been discovered, Lady Gilmore?” 

“And never will be, of course; it was a poacher no 
doubt — and — and my boy might have died ! ” 

Lady Gilmore’s dark eyes filled with tears as she said 
the last words, and Miss Butler caught her hand and 
pressed it sympathizingly. 

“You must not grieve about it, all danger is over now,” 
she said, soothingly. 

“Yes, but when I remember my anguish ” 

“We felt so much for you, mother and I.” 

Miss Butler had expressive Irish blue eyes, and she 
made very good use of them during the interview with 
Lady Gilmore, who was satisfied, as she looked at her, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION 


79 

that she was a girl with deep feelings and a tender heart. 

“ Gilmore must admire her,” she thought ; but before the 
evening was over neither the keen-witted girl nor the 
mother were by any means certain of this fact. 

Gilmore did not dine with them, for he always took 
his meals in his own rooms since his illness, as he was 
still quite unable to use one hand and arm. But at 
his mother’s request he went during the evening into her 
boudoir, and there saw Miss Butler. 

He saw a tall, handsome girl toying with a feather fan, 
who rose to receive him, and silently clasped his hand, 
with her blue eyes fixed on his face, as though her heart 
was too full to speak. “Well, Miss Butler, and how are 
you?” he said, without any responsive emotion. 

“And you? ” said Miss Butler in a half-whisper. 

“Oh, I’m pulling myself together again all right; so 
you’ve been staying with the Cadogan’s ; any news, 
there ? ” 

“I think not,” said the Hon. Kate, reseating herself, 
and during the rest of the evening she dropped anything 
sentimental, and tried to amuse Gilmore with her brighi 
and clever tongue. 

But she saw very well that she was not amusing him ; 
that he listened with politeness and laughed at her sallies, 
but that his bright hazel eyes did not linger on her hand- 
some face. She in fact was a young woman of penetra- 
tion, and when she retired to bed that night she under- 
stood very well that Gilmore had had nothing to do with 
her invitation to Wrothsley. 

“But it is such a splendid place,” she thought with 
a half-sigh ; and she decided it were well to remain, and 
that, perhaps, after all Gilmore might succumb to her 
attraction. 

But the next morning she saw nothing of him until after 
luncheon time. He wished her to go away in truth, and 
was quite aware that among marriageable young ladies 
he was regarded with great favor. Miss Butler, therefore, 
felt very much chagrined, and found it very dull sitting 
through a long morning with Lady Gilmore, and to relieve 
her mind stood for some time gazing out of the windows 
upon (as it chanced) the snowy park. And presently along 
the terrace in front of the house she perceived Nancy Loftus 
and the children passing and repassing on the walks 
which had been swept. 


8o 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT , OR , 


“There are your children, Lady Gilmore,” she said, 
“and who is that pretty girl walking with them?” 

“That is their young governess, Miss Loftus,” replied 
Lady Gilmore. 

“She seems a handsome girl.” 

“ She is good-looking ; she was recommended by Lady 
Blenkensop, the General’s wife, you know.” 

“Ah,” answered Miss Butler thoughtfully, and she said 
nothing more. She was watching the slender girlish fig- 
ure in black on the terrace below, noting the blooming 
complexion, and the lithe, light footsteps. Other eyes also 
were watching that slight form. Gilmore, impatient of 
restraint, always felt angry when he saw Nancy Loftus 
and his little sisters that he was bound by his promise to 
Nancy not to join them, and his fancy grew stronger and 
stronger for the dark-eyed governess. 

After luncheon, he went down to chat with Miss Butler, 
and at his mother’s suggestion walked out with her for 
half-an-hour on the terrace also in the frosty air. The 
Hon. Kate was charming and lively as usual, and her 
laugh rang clear and shrill. She amused Gilmore with 
society gossip, and bright sayings, but he gave a little 
shiver when the blast grew stronger, and a faint shower 
of snow began to fall, and said it was too chill for him to 
dare to remain out any longer. 

“ I have to wrap myself up like an old woman, you 
know, now,” he said smiling, “I am always freezing.” 

“ By-and-bye you will be quite well and strong again.” 

“I hope so, but I do not feel up to much now.” 

He accompanied her back to his mother’s room, and 
talked to her a little while there, but when Lady Gilmore 
said she would send for the children to have tea in the 
boudoir, so that Miss Butler might be introduced to them, 
Gilmore made an excuse that he was going to smoke, and 
so again left the two ladies to themselves. But Gilmore 
was not going to smoke ; he had heard his mother request 
the footman to bring the children to her room, and he 
meant to seize this opportunity to have another interview 
with Nancy Loftus. 

A quarter of an hour later Nancy heard a light rap at the 
schoolroom door, as she sat alone there, and when she 
said “ come in,” Gilmore’s smiling face appeared. 

“ May I enter ? ” he asked. 

> “Oh, no, no,” said Nancy, rising in quick alarm, “thQ 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPTA TIOJV. 8 1 

children are only gone for a few minutes, you must not 
come in here.” 

“Come and walk in the corridor then for a little while, 
it seems an age since I saw you last.” 

Nancy went to the schoolroom door, and as she stood 
a moment there, he took her hand, and drew her gently 
into the corridor. 

“Let us go to the other end,” he said in a low tone, 
“ and when they come back we shall hear them, and I can 
escape by the staircase.” 

“But this is wrong, I am sure it is wrong,” half-whis- 
pered Nancy, who felt afraid. 

“Yes, wrong that we can't walk and talk openly to- 
gether — not wrong that I should wish to see you.” 

“And Miss Butler — I saw you walking on the terrace 
with her this morning?” 

“Yes, I have just come in from a duty walk that my 
mother forced upon me, but all the time I was wishing I 
was here, and when she sent for the children I made an 
excuse, and here I am, you see. ” 

“ Miss Butler seems very handsome?” 

“She's a fine showy sort of a girl, and oh, doesn't she 
talk.” 

“ Well, do you mean ?” 

“Rather amusingly, but I felt intensely bored, as all 
the time I was wishing to be with you. 

It must be admitted that these words were very pleasant 
to Nancy’s ears. She liked Gilmore, and felt naturally 
flattered that he so greatly admired her. Yet she always 
felt half-guilty when she was talking to him, and when 
she had met him at the end of the corridor to receive the 
books he had promised her, she had told him that she 
really dare not do so again. 

But Gilmore would not listen. 

“Did you shut the children into the schoolroom?” he 
asked. 

“Yes, but I cannot tell they will stay there, you know.” 

“ But surely you can have a few moments to yourself 
— a few moments for me ? v 

“But just think, Lord Gilmore — ” 

“Will you not risk something for my sake? I know I 
would risk much for yours.” 

Nancy's heart beat very fast at these words, and though 
she only stayed a few minutes with Gilmore, she admitted 


82 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


to herself when she reached her own bedroom, carrying 
the packet of books that he had brought her, that these 
stolen interviews were very sweet. Yet the next morn- 
ing she felt very repentant, for the post brought her a long 
and loving letter from her dear mother. 

Mrs. Loftus had felt Nancy’s loss at home even more 
keenly than she had expected. And they had had sick- 
ness in the little house, for Mrs. Barclay (Aunt Fannie) 
had been seized with so severe an attack of bronchitis, 
that she had never been able to leave her sister-in-law, 
and had felt so alarmed about her own health, that she 
was afraid to go abroad alone, according to her usual 
custom in the winter. 

All this home news — the little struggles and trials — 
seemed a sort of reproach to Nancy, when she reflected 
that she was certainly risking her chance of helping her 
mother by her imprudence in meeting Lord Gilmore. 
Still she was but a girl. And her life at Wrothsley had 
certainly been a very dull one, before her acquaintance 
with Gilmore commenced. But she made up her mind 
to be very careful, and Gilmore did not see her for two 
days ; not until his mother sent for the children to have 
tea with Miss Butler and herself, and Nancy had felt these 
two days very dreary and long. 

So when Gilmore rapped at the schoolroom door, and 
drew her into the corridor, in her heart she was by no 
means unwilling to go. They went to the furthest end of 
the corridor, and stood leaning against the staircase door, 
while Gilmore was supposed to be smoking in his own 
rooms, and Miss Butler was fuming at his absence, all the 
while that she was smiling and talking to Lady Gilmore 
and the children. 

And of what were the two in the dimly-lighted corridor 
talking? Was it of the old, old story of youth and love 
and hope? Not yet. They stood there looking in each 
other’s faces, and smiling and saying light foolish words. 
Such a short while ago strangers, but now they felt warm 
friends, and were glad to meet, and loath to part. 

“ I am going to town for a day or two,” Gilmore told 
her, “I must go, fori want to see about some business, 
and to tell the truth also I want to keep out of Miss But- 
ler’s way — and I want you to promise me something 
before I go ? ” 

“I can make no rash promises/’ smiled Nancy. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


83 


“But this is not a rash one.” 

“I must hear it first.” 

“Will you promise then to come and walk here every 
afternoon at this time when I am away, and promise, too, 
to come on the day I return ? v 

“ How shall I know the day you return ?” 

“I shall write and let you know if I may. ” 

“And how long will you be away?” 

“A week, not longer — and I am going to-morrow. I 
mean to get a telegram to-morrow morning to call me 
to town and away from the attractions of Miss Butler.” 
And Gilmore laughed softly. 

“ Are you afraid of them ? ” 

“I am afraid of her prying eyes and sharp tongue — 
and besides, I want to bring you something from town.” 

“Oh, no, I want nothing.” 

“Don't refuse to give me a small pleasure. Well, will 
you come here every day then, when I am away ? ” 

“Why do you wish this? " said Nancy, in alow tone, 
casting down her shining dark eyes. 

“Can’t you guess? Ah, you do! I wish it because I 
want you to think of me ; to know that I am thinking of 
you — every moment, every hour.” 

Nancy gave a little saucy shake of her pretty head. 

“Don’t you believe this?” went on Gilmore, quite 
earnestly ; and he tried to take her hand, but Nancy shyly 
drew it away. “ ’Tis true I swear; I shall see a lovely 
face — as I see it now — always before me.” 

Nancy glanced up archly. 

“Do you say these pretty things to Miss Butler?” she 
said. 

“No, I don’t, ” answered Gilmore, half-angrily ; for he 
was unused to find his love-making not met more than 
half-way. “I say to no one what I say to you.” 

Nancy laughed softly ; she did not quite believe all his 
words, yet she was pleased to listen to them, and natu- 
rally flattered by the attentions of this good-looking man, 
of so much higher social position than her own, and 
Nancy was by no means indifferent to such vanities. 

“Then,” she said smilingly, “I have to walk up and 
down here every afternoon in the cold, for a week? ” 

“Will you Nancy? say you will ?” answered Gilmore 
eagerly, again trying to take her hand, for his ill-nature 
had vanished as quickly as.it game, But at this moment 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


84 

the voices of the children were to be heard at the other 
end of the corridor, and with an impatient gesture, Gil- 
more silently pressed Nancy’s hand, and then quietly 
opened the door which led to the staircase, disappeared 
behind it, and Nancy was once more alone. 

She waited a moment and then walked forward to meet 
the children, who could talk of nothing but Miss Butler. 

“She’s such a pretty young lady, taller than you are, 
Miss Loftus/’ they told her. 

“She has Irish blue eyes,” said Dossy. 

“Quite blue,” echoed Flossy; and during the rest of 
the day, Nancy heard of little else ; and as Gilmore spent 
part of the evening in the company of his mother and her 
guest, “the pretty young, lady ” retired to bed in a more 
hopeful condition of mind, regarding the owner of 
Wrothsley. 

But the next morning all her fond hopes were dashed 
to the ground' About eleven o’clock, which was earlier 
than he generally appeared, Gilmore entered his mother’s 
room, dressed for travelling, and to his mother’s conster- 
nation, announced he was on the point of starting for 
town. 

“You are not fit to go, Gilmore,” cried Lady Gilmore 
starting to her feet. 

“ It is a necessity, mother, so I must be fit,” he answer- 
ed briefly ; and Lady Gilmore sank back in her chair pale 
and trembling, for she remembered at this moment the 
mysterious letter that Gilmore had received on his sick- 
bed, and the grand-aunt’s warning. 

“ I am sorry to be obliged to leave when you are here,” 
continued Gilmore courteously, turning to Miss Butler, 
whose fine complexion had suddenly paled; “but it is 
unavoidable.” 

“I am very sorry,” answered Miss Butler in a strained 
tone. 

“But how long will you be away? surely not many 
days?” asked Lady Gilmore eagerly. 

“ Only a few days I expect.” 

“ Then Kate will be with us still when you return I 
hope,” said his mother. 

“ I hope so too,” smiled Gilmore, and then he shook 
hands with Miss Butler, and lightly kissed his mother’s 
cheek, who however, clung to him, holding both his 
hands, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


% 

“ Oh ! my dearest do not go ! ” she cried. “ Or if you 
must go, will you promise to be very careful, Gilmore — 
I shall be miserable every hour you are away.” 

“ Did you ever hear of such a silly old woman, 
Miss Butler,” said Gilmore with rather an uneasy laugh, 
“ wanting to tie her big son to her apron strings ! ” 

“ It is but natural she should be anxious about you,” 
answered Miss Butler, with a certain reserve in her gen- 
erally lively tones. 

“ There is nothing to be anxious about,” went on Gil- 
more, “ I have some business to see after, that is all.” 

“Are you going to the house in Eaton Square?” in- 
quired Lady Gilmore anxiously. 

“ Yes, I have telegraphed to Proctor to have my rooms 
ready. Well, good-bye, mother, take good care of Miss 
Butler while I am away ; ” and with a smiling glance of 
his hazel eyes at Miss Butler, and a good-natured nod to 
his mother he left the room. 

There was an uncomfortable pause after he was gone, 
and then Lady Gilmore forced herself to speak, and tried 
to hide her agitation and her fears. 

“ It is most unfortunate his being obliged to go in this 
hurried way,” she said. 

“It is rather strange, isn’t it?” replied Miss Butler, 
remembering certain scandals about Gilmore, which had 
been known to her, but which had not prevented her 
thinking of him as a husband. 

“ He said it was some pressing business — law-business 
most probably — lawyers are so tiresome. ” 

“ Yes,” said Miss Butler, and then she changed the 
subject, noting, however, with those sharp, bright blue 
eyes of hers, how restless and miserably anxious Lady 
Gilmore continued all the rest of the morning. 

“ I do not believe it is law-business,” she kept think- 
ing ; but she said nothing more about Gilmore’s absence, 
for she was a young woman who knew when to speak 
and when to be silent. 

And the same day a visitor arrived at Wrothsley who 
served to change the current of her thoughts. This was 
Sir John Oakes, who had been laid up with an accident 
on the hunting field since he was last at Wrothsley, and 
now appeared looking pale and ill. He inquired for Gil- 
more, but hearing he had started in the morning for town, 
he asked if he could see Lady Gilmore, and was thus 
ushered into that lady’s presence and Miss Butler’s. 


86 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


He was so nervous and agitated, that Lady Gilmore 
could not understand what was the matter with him, and 
answered so vaguely and wide of the mark to Miss 
Butler’s lively speeches that she set him down in her 
mind as little better than a fool. Suddenly, however, 
with a deep blush rising on his homely, but not un- 
pleasing features, Sir John blurted out the reason of his 
visit. 

“ I — I suppose,” he said, “that you have Miss Loftus 
with you still ? ” 

“ Miss Loftus? ” repeated Lady Gilmore, in great sur- 
prise. “ Do you mean the children’s governess? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Sir John, turning scarlet to the roots 
of his light tawny hair. “ I — I — met her at Sir Charles 
Blenkensop’s, you know — I hope she is very well ? ” 

“ I believe she is quite well,” said Lady Gilmore, 
haughtily and repressively. 

Sir John was silent for a moment, and looked irresolute ; 
then, with a great effort, he spoke again — 

“ I — should like to see her, Lady Gilmore — with your 
permission may I see her? ” 

Lady Gilmore regarded him with absolute astonish- 
ment. 

“ See her? I do not understand. Have you any busi- 
ness with her, any communications to make from Lady 
Blenkensop ? ” 

“ I admire her very much,” answered Sir John sturdily, 
now gaining courage, for he had called with a settled 
purpose in his mind, “and I should like to see her if you 
will allow me ? ” 

Lady Gilmore’s sallow complexion flushed, and she 
slightly shrugged her shoulders. 

“You must forgive me when I tell you I never heard 
of such a thing,” she said coldly. “Visit the children’s 
governess ! Impossible, I cannot allow it.” 

“ But why, Lady Gilmore? ” 

“ Why ? ” repeated Lady Gilmore hastily. “Your own 
sense ought to tell you why, Sir John ! ” 

“ I cannot see it,” he answered quietly, “you must4^ 
quite sure I should not have asked you this favor, unless 
I had regarded Miss Loftus as my equal — which she is — 
and with the greatest admiration and respect.” 

Again Lady Gilmore slightly shrugged her shoulders. 

“ We need not discuss the question,” she said; “ it is 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. gy 

impossible that you can see Miss Loftus under this roof, 
if you wish to do so, you must see her when she is under 
Lady Blenkensop’s protection not mine.” 

Sir John bowed angrily and coldly, and a few moments 
later he took his leave, and the two ladies looked at each 
other as the door closed behind him. 

“ Did you ever hear of a man making such an extraor- 
dinary request?” asked Lady Gilmore. 

Miss Butler raised her pretty dark eye-brows before she 
made any reply. 

“ You are very courageous,” she said, “to keep such 
an attractive governess in the house.” 

“I never regarded her as very attractive,” answered 
Lady Gilmore hastily. “I have scarcely looked at her. 
Lady Blenkensop brought her here, you know, when Gil- 
more was very ill, and I have always thought her a quiet 
sort of girl. ” 

“Yet that young man is evidently in love with her,” 
continued Miss Butler with a cold hard smile. “I am 
really quite anxious to see such a paragon — let us pay a 
visit to the schoolroom, Lady Gilmore — perhaps we shall 
find Sir John Oakes with the governess in spite of your 
refusal. ” 

“ Impossible ! ” cried Lady Gilmore starting to her feet. 
“ He dare not — but we can go and see.” 

And they actually did go ; but when they reached the 
schoolroom, which Lady Gilmore entered with imperious 
haste, they found a very quiet, and apparently peaceful 
scene. Nancy was sitting reading near the shaded lamp 
on the table, and the children were playing at building a 
church with mimic bricks. Lady Gilmore felt half 
ashamed of her suspicions as she looked at them, and 
made a kind of apology to Nancy. 

“ I have brought Miss Butler to see your schoolroom, 
Miss Loftus,” she said. 

Nancy rose and bowed, and Miss Butler looked at her 
critically — looked at the pretty features, the blooming 
complexion, the slender, yet shapely form. 

<&She has a lovely face,” she thought ; “it is madness 
for Lady Gilmore to have her in the house.” 

But she crossed the room and talked very affably to 
Nancy and the children, and presently took up the book 
that Nancy had been reading, and as she did so, she saw 
with her quick eyes a half-frightened expression pass over 
Nancy’s face. 


88 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, \ OR , 


“You are reading this?” she said, carelessly. “Do 
you like it? ” 

“I have scarcely got into it yet,” answered Nancy; 
and as she spoke Miss Butler turned to the fly-leaf, on 
which, in a moment, she perceived inscribed the single 
word, “Gilmore.” 

But she made no remark ; she laid the book quietly 
down, and no one looking at her could have guessed that 
at this instant a new suspicion had entered into her heart. 


CHAPTER XII. 

CONFIRMATION. 

Miss Butler said nothing to Lady Gilmore, after they 
had quitted the schoolroom together, of having seen her 
son’s name in the book Miss Loftus was reading; nor did 
she hint at the suspicions which had flashed into her own 
mind. 

“She is very handsome,” she said quietly, as they 
walked along the corridor, “too handsome fora gover- 
ness. ” 

“She is good-looking,” admitted Lady Gilmore grudg- 
ingly, who had also noticed with dismay how pretty 
Nancy looked in the soft light of the shaded lamp. 

“ She is more than that,” answered Miss Butler. “I 
do not wonder that Sir John Oakes or any other young 
man should admire her;” and as she said these words, 
Lady Gilmore’s sallow cheeks flushed, and she began to 
think it was very thoughtless of Lady Blenkensop to have 
brought such a girl to Wrothsley. 

“She is too young,” she said sharply, “the children 
ought to have an older woman to look after them I think.” 

“ She looks like a girl who would be a great flirt — it is 
certainly very amusing about poor Sir John Oakes ! ” 
And Miss Butler laughed and then began to talk to Lady 
Gilmore about the armor ; but she was not thinking of 
the old breast-plates and helmets, but of Gilmore’s name 
in Nancy’s book. 

And the next morning she asked Lady Gilmore if she 
might take the children out with her for a walk in the 
park. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. gq 

“And we’ll leave the handsome governess at home, if 
we may ? ” she said, smiling ; “I hate to talk to people of 
that kind ! ” 

“Of course, my dear,” answered Lady Gilmore; “and 
I am sure the children will be delighted to go with you, 
only don’t let them bore you.” 

“ They could never do that ; they are two dear, beauti- 
ful little girls.” 

“They are like Gilmore, I think,” said Lady Gilmore 
softly, and then she sighed, anxiously thinking of her 
absent son. 

The children were delighted to go with Miss Butler, and 
that young lady very soon, and with affected carelessness, 
introduced the name of their governess. 

“ Do you like her? ” she asked. 

“Oh, very much,” they both answered, “she is always 
kind and pleasant.” 

“ Does your brother like her ? But I suppose he doesn’t 
know her?” continued Miss Butler, pursuing her inquiries. 

“Oh, but he does, though,” replied Dossy, with some 
pride in her tone, “ I introduced them in the park one day, 
and he walked with us to the lake, and then he went 
away ; and another day we had a talk with him, too, and 
he said something to Miss Loftus that made her face turn 
very red, but I do not know what it was.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Miss Butler, and she drew in her pretty red 
lips tightly, and an angry flash shot into her blue eyes. 

“And,” she asked a moment later, “ does Gilmore ever 
go into the schoolroom to play with you ? ” 

“ Oh no,” said Dossy, “ and yet we are not so far off 
him, either, so it is very mean of him, for his rooms, you 
know, are in the wing next to ours, but there's a staircase 
between them, but the doors are always locked, for Flossy 
and I have tried.” 

Miss Butler made one or two more inquiries, and then 
made an appointment with the children to view the armor 
in the corridor during the afternoon. 

“Miss Loftus often walks in the corridor,” volunteered 
Dossy, “ every afternoon, about five now, she goes ; but 
it’s too cold for our taste, we prefer sitting by the school- 
room fire.” 

“Ah!” again ejaculated Miss Butler, for now she 
thought she understood it all. Why Gilmore had been 
cold and indifferent to her ; why he never lingered by 
her side. 


9 o 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


“ He is carrying on an intrigue with the governess/’ 
she thought vindictively; “but I must be sure, and then 
Lady Gilmore shall know.” 

She went the same afternoon to the corridor, and having 
rapped at the schoolroom door, found the children alone 
there. 

“Miss Loftus is walking outside,” they told her : and 
then, when they proceeded to view the armor they met 
Nancy, but Miss Butler treated her with but scant cour- 
tesy, merely slightly bowing her head as they passed. 

“ We’ll be back soon, Miss Loftus,” cried Dossy, look- 
ing round, “ we are only going to show Miss Butler the 
armor, some of it is very good, you know.” 

“Very well,” answered Nancy, and with a flushed face 
and a beating heart she retired into the schoolroom, for 
there had been something in Miss Butler’s manner she 
could not understand. 

The other three — the children and Miss Butler — walked 
on to the very end of the corridor, Dossy pointing out the 
different pieces of ancient armor as they went. When 
they reach the door that led to the staircase, which was 
covered with green baize, Miss Butler touched it. 

“ Is this the door,” she said, “that you told me about, 
that leads somewhere or other ? ” 

Dossy eagerly explained : — “ It leads to the west wing,” 
she said, “ where Gilmore’s rooms are ; you go in there, 
and then come to a staircase, and you go up the stair- 
case, and then come to another door, but that one is 
always kept locked ; in fact, I do not think it has a key ; 
it is never used.” 

Miss Butler smiled vaguely. 

“ And these rooms,” she said, pointing to one or two 
doors near the end of the corridor, “ are they all used ? ” 

‘‘Oh no,” answered Dossy, “they are bedrooms, but 
no one ever sleeps in them ; the only rooms used down 
this corridor are ours — our schoolroom mid bedroom, you 
know, and our maid’s room, and our governess’s — the rest 
are empty, like this one,” and she turned the handle of one 
of the unused bedroom doors as she spoke. 

“They seem nice rooms,” said Miss Butler, looking in; 
and then she returned slowly up the corridor, her curi- 
osity having been satisfied, and declined Dossy’s eagerly 
urged hospitality to take tea with them in the school- 
room. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


91 

She did not mention this visit to the armory at dinner 
to Lady Gilmore, nor did she again speak of the gov- 
erness during the days of Gilmore’s continued absence. 
He was away five days, and then one morning, to his 
mother’s unspeakable delight, she received a letter from 
him, to tell her that he would return to Wrothsley on the 
following afternoon. 

“ He has hurried back to see you, I am sure, my dear,” 
she said, joyfully, to Miss Butler, whose face flushed 
strangely, as Lady Gilmore said these words, but it was 
not a happy blush that stained Miss Butler’s cheeks. 

And the same post which carried the news of her son’s 
return to Lady Gilmore, brought another letter to Wroths- 
ley. This was for Miss Loftus, and though not directed 
in the same handwriting, was yet from Gilmore, and Nancy 
read it with fast-beating, happy, yet troubled heart. 

“My dear Miss Loftus, (I had almost written my dear 
sweet Nancy, for as such I always think and dream of 
you,) I shall be back to-morrow, and you know, I’m sure, 
why I am returning so soon ? I am coming back to see 
you; to find out if you have kept your promise, and walked 
in the corridor every day while I have been away ; and 
if you will keep it still, and meet me to-morrow at five 
o’clock at the old trysting-place ? Do, sweet Nancy, for 
I am longing so to see you, and I remain always devot- 
edly yours, — Gilmore.” 

No wonder that Nancy’s young pulses throbbed and her 
heart beat fast as she read these tender words. He loved 
her then, and if he loved her truly what was there to part 
them, Nancy not unnaturally thought. True, Lady Gil- 
more would be very angry, but after all what could she 
say ? 

“ My father was a gentleman,” Nancy reflected a little 
proudly, “ and though Gilmore maybe very rich and we 
are poor, still mo*iey is not everything.’’ 

Poor little wonlm, she had only lately begun to realize 
that if not everything it is certainly much 1 That it makes 
happiness or misery, bright lives or sad ones, there is no 
doubt. The want of it is galling, the need of it great, 
but Nancy was too young quite to understand the vast 
difference the world would see between her position and 
Lord Gilmore’s. 

Her heart was in a sweet flutter all the day after she 
read Gilmore’s letter, and her dark shining, dewy eyes 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 


92 

wandered again and again to the face of the school clock, 
as the hours wore away until the time she was to meet 
her lover. 

And where was Lord Gilmore? At three o'clock he 
arrived at Wrothsley, and his mother who had been 
watching for the carriage which had been sent to the sta- 
tion to meet him, hurried down to welcome him, and 
clasped him eagerly in her arms. 

He was looking stronger than when he went away, 
and he kissed his mother good-naturedly on both cheeks. 

“ And how is the dear old woman ? ” he said. 

“Only too happy to see you again, dearest,” she half- 
whispered, with her face against his ; “ I have been so anx- 
ious, so afraid ? ” 

“What for?” he answered lightly. “And you still 
have Miss Butler here, I suppose ? ” 

“Yes, she is a dear, kind girl, and I am so fond of her 
Gilmore.” 

He smiled, and gave his shoulders a little shrug. 

“You women,” he said, “are always in ecstasies over 
one another until you fall out; however, there is no doubt 
Miss Kate Butler is a good-looking girl.” 

A few minutes later he was talking to Miss Kate Butler 
in his mother’s boudoir, and he never noticed the peculiar 
gleam in her blue eyes. Her manner was bright and gay 
to him as usual, and Gilmore talked to her in his pleasant, 
careless fashion for nearly an hour. Then she noticed he 
glanced for a moment at his watch, and rose and left the 
room shortly afterwards. 

“ Well,” he said, “ I am going for a smoke and a drink, 
if you ladies will excuse me; but I’ll see you again during 
the evening, Miss Butler.” 

“Do dine with us this evening, Gilmore,” urged his 
mother; I am sure dear Kate here will not mind your not 
being able to use your arm yet.” 

“Consider my vanity!” he answered with a laugh; 
“having one’s food cut for one like a baby before a young 
lady?” 

“ You know I should not mind,” said Kate Butler. 

“We shall see,” smiled Gilmore, and then he went 
away. And he had scarcely left the room, when Miss 
Butler did so also. 

“ I have some letters to write before dinner,” she told 
Lady Gilmore, “you won’t mind my leaving you alone, 
will you?” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


93 


“Of course not, my dear child, give my love to your 
mother, and tell her how great a pleasure it is to us to 
have you here.” 

Thus Miss Butler was free to go, but she had not retired 
to write letters. With her light swift footsteps she passed 
at once from the part of the house where Lady Gilmore’s 
boudoir was situated, and proceeded to the corridor where 
the armor hung, and where the children and their gov- 
erness lived. When she arrived here she went quickly 
and silently past the schoolroom door, and without meet- 
ing or seeing a single creature walked to the very end of 
the corridor, and having done this, opened the door of 
one of the unused bedrooms there, and in an instant 
had vanished in its gloom. 

She left the door one shade ajar, and crouched down 
behind it, and waited patiently more than half-an-hour. 
Then she plainly heard a man’s footsteps (apparently) 
descending the staircase behind the green baize door, 
which the children had told her led to Gilmore’s rooms. 
Her breath came short, and her heart beat fast, for a 
minute later the door opened, and Gilmore himself 
appeared. 

He did not wait long alone. A light footstep and the 
rustle of a woman's gown now fell on Miss Butler’s 
strained ears, and with a little exclamation of joy, Gil- 
more advanced a few steps, holding out both his hands. 

“ Nancy ! I am so glad, so happy to see you again ! ” 

Miss Butler heard the words quite distinctly, and she 
heard the answer. 

“ I have kept faith with you, you see,” came from Nan- 
cy’s rosy lips. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

TINGLING EARS. 

Still Miss Butler stood listening, with clenched hands 
and bated breath, though she knew that Gilmore’s words 
and Nancy’s were not intended for her ears. 

And presently these very ears began to tingle with 
shame, for she heard her own name mentioned and Gil- 
more’s comments on it. 

“ I have been op the rack for the last hour,” he wept 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


94 

on, still holding Nancy’s hands, “dying to come to you, 
yet forced to talk to that girl my mother has staying 
here.” 

“Miss Butler? ” said Nancy, softly. 

“Yes, she is a perfect nuisance ; one of those young 
women so desperately on the look-out for a husband that 
she tries to attract every man she sees. I only wish she 
would go.” 

“Yet, she is handsome ! ” 

“ Do you think so? She is too sharp-looking for my 
taste, and always reminds me, somewhat unpleasantly, of 
her father, who is an impecunious old scamp.” 

Nancy gave a little laugh. 

“But I did not come here to talk of Miss Butler,” con- 
tinued Gilmore, “but to someone much sweeter and love- 
lier. Nancy did you walk here every day while I was 
away ? ” 

The half-whispered “yes,” that fell so sweetly from 
Nancy’s lips, still reached Miss Butler’s burning ears. 

“Y T oudear, dear girl! And you thought of me some- 
times then — tell me, Nancy?” 

Again there was a little tremulous “yes.” 

“And I thought of you every moment of time,” said 
Gilmore ardently ; “didn’t I tell you your sweet face would 
be always before me? Well, it was Nancy — and see what 
I have brought,you, a little gift to show you that you were 
not forgotten ? ” 

He drew from the pocket of his coat, and opened as he 
spoke a morocco case, and Miss Butler saw him. She 
saw too, even though the corridor was but dimly lighted, 
the glitter of the diamonds within, and how magnificent 
was the ornament that Gilmore had purchased for Nancy. 

“ This is for you,” he said ; “let me fasten it round your 
lovely little throat ? ” 

But the girl put up her hands in answer. 

“ No, no ! ” she cried, “ I cannot take it, Lord Gilmore — - 
I cannot take anything.” 

“She is playing a high game,” bitterly reflected Miss 
Butler. 

“But you must,” urged Gilmore. “ Don’t you like it? 
I took such pains in choosing it for you, and it was such 
a pleasure to me to do so.” 

“ It is beautiful,” said Nancy, looking with half-averted 
eyes at the sparkling gaud; “ but indeed you must notask 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


95 

me to accept it, though it was so good of you to bring it/’ 

“But I do ask you ; I implore you to accept it, or you 
will make me think I have offended you.” 

“ It is not that — but ” 

“What is it then, sweet Nancy?” 

The two were standing in their old attitude, leaning to- 
gether against the green baize door, and suddenly — in a 
moment — Miss Butler saw Gilmore bend down and kiss 
Nancy’s sweet upturned face. 

“Oh! don’t, don’t Lord Gilmore ! ” she cried, pushing 
him away. 

“ But you know I love you? Oh ! forgive me, Nancy, 
do not be angry — but you know I love you so well ! ” 

“ I will not come here any more if you do that,” said 
Nancy in a half-angry tone. 

“ I promise I will not then ; you will come to-morrow 
Nancy, won’t you ? I will not go away until you promise ?” 

“But you must go now, or the children will be coming 
out to look for me.” 

“ Tiresome little brats ! ” 

“’Tis nearly their tea-time you know, so you must 
go.” 

“Will you come half-an-hour earlier to-morrow, then? 
I have scarcely had a word with you : will you promise to 
be here at half-past four o’clock to the minute? ” 

“ I will try.” 

“And do take this, Nancy,” said Lord Gilmore, pushing 
the jewel-case into Nancy’s hand, and actually as he did 
this, the schoolroom door at the other end of the corridor 
opened, and the children’s fair heads appeared. 

“Hush, here are the children,” whispered Nancy, “go 
now ; and Gilmore after pressing her hand, in which he 
left the jewel-case, disappeared behind the green baize 
door, and Nancy, after a moment’s thought, concealed the 
case in her dress, and then met the children who came 
running towards her. 

“We came to look for you,” said Dossy ; “it is twenty 
minutes past tea-time ; may we ring for it, Miss Loftus ? ” 

“Yes, do dear, I will be with you by the time it is 
there,” answered Nancy in some confusion “but I am 
going into my own bedroom for a few minutes first.” 

The listener with the bitten lips, and white face, heard 
all this, and then ventured slightly to open the door of 
the room where she had hidden herself, and she saw the 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR, 


96 

children run on, and the governess go into a room be- 
fore she reached the schoolroom, and close the door 
behind her. She still waited and the schoolroom bell 
rang, and the schoolroom maid appeared carrying a tea- 
tray, and presently the governess went into the school- 
room also, and Miss Butler decided that this was the time 
to fly. 

She went along the corridor again with those swift and 
silent footsteps of hers, and she met no one as when she 
came. Finally she reached her own bedroom, and then 
the hidden passion, rage and shame, in her own heart 
burst forth. She was pale, panting, furious, and with 
clenched hands, knitted brows, and fierce blue eyes, she 
walked up and down her own bedroom, with hasty and 
irregular footsteps, considering how she could most bit- 
terly punish the woman who had taken her intended lover 
away from her, and the man who had spoken of her so 
shamefully. 

She did not appear again during the evening ; she felt 
she could not, but she presently sent her maid with a 
note to Lady Gilmore, to tell her she had been taken ill 
with a bad attack of neuralgia in her forehead, and to 
ask to be excused appearing at dinner. And that fierce, 
throbbing pain was only too real ! The violent emotions 
that she had gone through had sent the blood surging in 
her veins, and she was physically as well as mentally ill. 
The answer to this note was a visit from Lady Gilmore 
herself, who was all anxiety and kindness when she saw 
the changed face of her young guest. 

But Miss Butler kept her tongue chained. She was too 
clever not to know Lady Gilmore’s character, and to be 
sure if she told her now of her son’s delinquencies, that 
in that impulsive, passionate way of hers, she would 
probably act in such a manner that Gilmore would think 
himself bound to protect the girl he had brought into 
trouble. No, she would wait until to-morrow, and she 
did wait. She did not go down to breakfast, but kept 
her room all day under pretence of illness ; but during 
the afternoon — about half-past three — she sent for Lady 
Gilmore, and that lady, as she entered the room, saw at 
once by Miss Butler’s face that she had something serious 
to communicate to her. 

“You are not worse, surely, my dear,” asked Lady 
Gilmore, anxiously. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


97 


“I am ill in body and ill in mind/' answered Miss 
Butler, with great but suppressed excitement “ I have 
something to tell you, Lady Gilmore — something shame- 

“ Shameful!” repeated Lady Gilmore, and her sallow 
cheeks paled. 

“Yes, most shameful ; but you must promise me, Lady 
Gilmore, before I tell you, to act wisely; not to be led 
away by your just anger.” 

“I do not understand you,” faltered the mother, whose 
thoughts had turned instantly to her son. 

“Do yOu remember,” went on Miss Butler, with gather- 
ing passion, which, however, she tried to keep in check, 
“ the day when Sir John Oakes called and asked to see 
Miss Loftus, and we went to the schoolroom after he was 
gone ? ” 

“I remember — yes, certainly — but what has Miss Loftus 
to do with this ? ” 


“I am coming to that presently; when we went into 
the schoolroom Miss Loftus was reading, and she laid 
down the book, and presently I took it up, and as I 
glanced at it — it was a new book I knew — I saw Gilmore’s 
name written on the first page.” 

“Gilmore’s!” repeated Lady Gilmore in consternation. 

“Yes, Gilmore’s,” said Miss Butler bitterly, “and a 
sudden suspicion darted into my mind. I said nothing to 
you, for I thought it might be nothing ; she might have 
picked the book up in the library — anywhere — but still I 
thought it strange, and the next day, while the children 
were in the park with me, I asked them if they liked their 
governess, and if their brother liked her? But of course 
he does not know her ? I said.” 

“‘Oh! yes,’ answered little Dossy, ‘he knows her 
quite well ; he has walked in the park with us, and gone 
down to the lake with us, and one day he said something 
to Miss Loftus, that made her face turn very red. ’ ” 

“I cannot, I will not believe it!” cried Lady Gilmore 
starting to her feet. 

“It is all too true; wait until you hear the rest. I 
asked the children if their brother ever went into the 
schoolroom to play with them, and they said ‘ no ’ ; but 
added that he might do so very well if he liked, as there 
was a staircase from his wing of the house, commu- 
nicating with the corridor where their rooms are,” 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


98 

“That staircase is never used, the door is always kept 
locked,” said Lady Gilmore, loudly and passionately. 

“Not always, it seems,” answered Miss Butler, scorn- 
fully, “not yesterday, at least, for yesterday Gilmore went 
down it and met Miss Loftus by appointment at its foot.” 

“How do you know ? I will not believe it ; the chil- 
dren must have invented this.” 

“The children had nothing to do with it,” said Miss 
Butler, the hidden passion and rage in her heart suddenly 
mastering her, and she too rose to her feet and stood 
facing Lady Gilmore, “ I saw them meet with my own 
eyes, Lady Gilmore ; I heard their love-making, and saw 
the diamonds he had brought her from town — and he 
kissed her ” 

“ What ! ” came hissing from Lady Gilmore’s white, 
quivering lips. 

“He kissed her,” repeated Miss Butler vindictively, 
“ and they agreed to meet again to-day — and they insulted 
me and my people, and spoke contemptuously of you.” 

“This is too much — my God, this is too much ! ” cried 
Lady Gilmore, and the expression of her face was so ter- 
rible, that the angry girl opposite to her felt a momentary 
compassion for the unhappy mother. 

“ I do not blame Gilmore so much,” she said, “as this 
wretched girl, who has no doubt inveigled him and 
tempted him, and you know what men are when a pretty 
face is concerned. But I want you to act with prudence, 
and not give this creature the opportunity of appealing to 
Gilmore before you turn her out of the house.” 

Lady Gilmore did not answer immediately ; a strange 
look had come into her dark eyes, and her lips kept mov- 
ing as though she were muttering to herself, but no sound 
came forth. 

“I want you to go with me now,” continued Miss 
Butler, “ and see them meet, with your own eyes, as I 
did. I went into one of the unused bedrooms at the end 
of the corridor, and I left the door a shade ajar, and I 
heard every word they said, and I heard them agree to 
meet to-day, at half-past four. Let them meet, Lady Gil- 
more, and wait until Gilmore is gone, and then send her 
away before she has the opportunity or chance of seeing 
Gilmore again.” 

Lady Gilmore looked at Miss Butler as though she did 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


99 

not understand what she had been saying ; as though her 
own thoughts were far away. 

“What is it you have been saying ? ” she said. “Tell 
me again.” 

Then Miss Butler repeated her advice, urging Lady Gil- 
more to make no scene before her son. 

“ If you do, you will only force him to defend her,” she 
said. “When he goes to meet her again let him find her 
gone. ” 

Lady Gilmore moaned aloud. 

“ He could not even respect my roof, then,” she uttered 
bitterly, “ not after all I’ve done and suffered for his 
sake.” 

“ It was folly to have such a girl here, Lady Gilmore.” 

“ What did I know or think of the girl ! ” answered Lady 
Gilmore passionately. “ Did I dream that my son would 
fall so low that he would dishonor his mother’s roof?” 

“We are wasting time in talking,” said Miss Butler im- 
patiently ; “it is close on four now; let us go at once. 
Lady Gilmore, while the children are still at their lessons, 
and the schoolroom door sure to be shut.” 

And after a little further persuasion, the younger woman’s 
stronger will prevailed, and the two quitted Miss Butler’s 
bedroom, and went together to the children’s corridor, 
passing quickly and quietly down it, and soon reaching 
the unused bedrooms at its end. The schoolroom door, 
as Miss Butler had expected, was shut, and the corridor, 
as usual, dimly lighted, and they met no one, and soon 
found themselves in the bedroom nearest to the green 
baize door, which led to the staircase behind it. 

They spoke very few words, and after they had been 
there a little, while in the darkness, suddenly Miss Butler 
gripped hold of Lady Gilmore’s trembling, throbbing hand. 

“ Listen ! ” she whispered, “ I hear his footsteps.” 

And her acute sense of hearing was true. A moment 
later Lady Gilmore also heard a footstep on the staircase 
beyond ; and yet a moment more, and the handle of the 
green baize door softly turned, and Gilmore was before 
them. 

Lady Gilmore’s heart beat so loudly and audibly at this 
moment, that Miss Butler grew afraid that Gilmore’s at- 
tention might be attracted — but no. He leaned against the 
green door for a second or two, and then walked a few 
steps leisurely forward, turned and came back to the door. 


IOO 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


He did this twice, and the third time as he was advancing’ 
other footsteps fell on the two listeners’ ears, and a bright, 
glad look passed over Gilmore’s face. 

“Nancy! naughty little witch ! I thought you were 
going to play me false this time,” they heard him say. 

“ No,” answered Nancy’s voice, “but I was afraid of 
attracting the children’s attention by coming too soon.” 

“ What little plagues they are, I wish they were out of 
the way ; but one of my plagues, I am happy to say, is — 
Miss Butler is ill.” 

The two women who were listening clasped each other’s 
hands spasmodically at these words. 

“ Oh, poor thing, what is the matter with her?” said 
Nancy. 

“Something about her head, I believe,” answered Gil- 
more carelessly, “I only hope it may get worse.” 

“You should not say that, and I am sure you don’t 
mean it.” 

“Don’t I though ! It worries me to talk to her, all the 
time I am thinking of you, so I am very glad she is out 
of the way — may she remain so ! ” 

A soft girlish laugh now jarred on the listeners’ ears in 
reply to this speech of Gilmore’s. 

“ Lord Gilmore, I have something to say to you,” they 
heard next. 

“And what is it, sweet Nancy?” he asked. 

“About the present you brought me — the diamond 
necklace — I cannot take it ; it is here, you must take it 
back ? ” 

“Viper ! ” reflected Miss Butler at this moment. 

“ Wretch ! ” thought Lady Gilmore. 

“I shall do nothing of the kind,” said Gilmore; “I 
bought it for you, and unless you keep it, I shall think 
you don’t like it, or that you hate me — which is it, 
Nancy ? ” 

“Neither, you know very well — but it is too handsome, 
too grand for me.” 

“Nothing can be too handsome for you, or half hand- 
some enough, for that matter. You are a little beauty, 
you know, Nancy, and you look so lovely at this moment, 
that if it were not that I am afraid you would be angry — ” 

“I shall be very angry, you know what you promised 
yesterday, Lord Gilmore ? ” 

“Yes, I remember — well, don’t be angry at any rate.” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION , . 


IOI 


“ But about this necklace — do please me by taking it 
back ? ” 

“Do please me by keeping it,” begged Gilmore. 

“ No, no, I cannot ! ” 

“Yes, yes, you can ! ” 

“ How you tease me, Lord Gilmore.” 

“Do I, sweet Nancy? Well, I shall promise not to 
tease you any more, if you will keep the necklace ? ” 

“lean bear it no longer,” gasped Lady Gilmore in 
Miss Butler’s ear. 

“You must,” she hissed back. 

And the two outside went prattling on — sweet foolish 
words — fit for no other’s ears; while the two crouching 
behind the closed door, listened with rage, jealousy, fury, 
increasing each moment in their hearts. It was all in- 
deed that Miss Butler could do to restrain Lady Gilmore 
from bursting forth from her hiding-place, and pouring 
out her burning indignation on the unsuspecting ears of 
her son. Love, true and strong, is great and beautiful — 
that strange yearning of one life towards another, with 
its trust, its belief, its dawning hopes — but love-making ! 
Let anyone recall the unfinished phrases, “the moment- 
ary touches of finger-tips,” the glances, the sighs, the 
hundred follies — and conceive what they would have felt 
if they had known that their love-making had been watch- 
ed and overheard. Happily Gilmore and Nancy were 
quite ignorant of the four angry eyes, and the four greedy 
burning ears that were drinking in each tender whisper, 
each amorous glance. 

Long Gilmore lingered; long after Nancy told him it 
was time to go, that the children would be becoming 
impatient for their tea, and be coming to seek her as they 
had done yesterday. 

“I cannot tear myself away,” he said ; but at last he 
went, went after kissing Nancy’s hands, after persuading 
her to keep the diamond necklace, “until to-morrow at 
least.” 

“Will you really promise to take it back then ? ” asked 
Nancy, smiling too. 

“Will you really promise to come? ” 

“Yes, really,” she said, and after a few more words 
they parted, and Gilmore disappeared behind the green 
baize door, and Nancy smiling, rosy, fair, walked slowly 
down towards the schoolroom, carrying the diamond 
necklace in her hand. 


102 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


CHAPTER XIV. 

INSULTED. 

Some five or six minutes later, while Nancy stood lean- 
ing- contemplatively against the school-room mantel- 
piece, having rung for the children’s tea, the door of the 
room was flung violently open, and Lady Gilmore, pale, 
nay livid, with passion stalked in, closely followed by 
Miss Butler. 

“ Leave the house this moment, you disgraceful crea- 
ture ! ” cried Lady Gilmore, approaching Nancy in a 
menacing attitude, her hands clenched, her whole form 
quivering with the violence of her feelings. “You shall 
not stay here another night, another moment ! ” 

“What does this mean, Lady Gilmore? ” asked Nancy, 
utterly astonished, and turning suddenly pale. 

“ Mean ! I shall tell you what it means,” shrieked the 
infuriated woman ; “it means that you are disreputable ! 
Utterly unfit ever to have been under this roof — fit for the 
streets, not for here ! ” 

“ Lady Gilmore ! ” exclaimed Nancy, starting back 
with horror. 

“ Oh you may start and pretend to look innocent, but 
I know better. A nice governess for my children, truly 
— a creature who inveigles their brother to meet her in 
dark passages, and induces him to bring her jewels — don’t 
deny it ; here is my evidence !” 

And as she spoke Lady Gilmore advanced to the mantel- 
piece, and seized the jewel-case which Gilmore had in- 
duced Nancy to keep until the next day, and which Nancy 
had laid down there when she re-entered the school-room. 
In a moment it was now in Lady Gilmore’s hands, a 
moment later she had opened it, "and then in her passion 
disdainfully flung the glittering gaud upon the floor. 

Nancy, who had now grown deadly pale, did not stoop 
to raise it. She stood there facing the angry two who 
had watched her, and were now insulting her, and she 
looked at them not a little scornfully. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


103 

“ You are speaking to me and treating me disgracefully, 
Lady Gilmore,’’ she said. “Send for Lord Gilmore, and 
ask him the truth about our acquaintance.” 

“A very likely thing for Lady Gilmore to do,” sneered 
Miss Butler with bitter emphasis. 

“ A just thing at all events,” retorted Nancy with spirit, 
who was now roused to defend herself. 

“No, I shall not send for him!” said Lady Gilmore 
excitedly. “I shall send you out of the house at once, 
and not give you the opportunity of again enticing him 
into folly.” 

She furiously rang the bell as she spoke, and a minute 
later the schoolroom maid, who had been on her way 
there carrying the children’s tea, and thought this second 
bell (Nancy had rung before) was to hasten her footsteps, 
entered the room, and naturally felt some surprise when 
she saw the excited group there. 

“Tell the butler to come to me here at once,” said Lady 
Gilmore addressing her; “and after you have done so, 
you go into Miss Loftus’ bedroom and pack her clothes. 
She is leaving for good immediately, so leave nothing 
behind.” 

“Lady Gilmore, I have a right to demand that I should 
not be treated in such a manner,” expostulated Nancy. 

“ You shall see who has a right to act in this house,” 
retorted Lady Gilmore ; “ and out of it you go ! ” 

“But, mother, what has she done?” now inquired 
Dossy, for the children had been awestricken spectators 
of the whole scene. 

“Hold your tongue, child,” sharply answered Lady 
Gilmore. 

“At all events let me go to Lady Blenkensop’s for the 
night ? ” said Nancy. “My mother is an invalid, and my 
going without any notice might make her worse.” 

“No, I won’t let you go to Lady Blenkensop’s ; Lady 
Blenkensop ought never to have allowed you to come 
here, but I suppose you took her in, and pretended to be 
as innocent as you look,” said Lady Gilmore, who was 
still in a towering rage. “ I will send you back to town 
to-night with the butler, and give him orders that he is 
never to leave you until you are at your mother’s — if you 
really have a mother ! ” 

“ Which is very doubtful I think,” scoffed Miss Butler. 

Nancy looked from one to another, and something of 


104 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


her soldier-father’s brave spirit kindled in her dark eyes^ 

“You are insulting 1 a defenceless girl most unjustly, 
she said ; “ but I have a good mother, and I have a home, 
and I little thought when I left it for the first time, to come 
here, that I should ever have been treated as I have been 
to-day . v 

Neither Lady Gilmore nor Miss Butler deigned to make 
any reply to this. True Miss Butler shrugged her shoul- 
ders contemptuously, and then turned her back on Nancy, 
and the entrance of the butler now created a diversion. 

The butler was a man of solemn and substantial port, 
who had grown rich in the service of the family, and 
respected them accordingly. He had lived at Wrothsley 
in the time of the last lord, and knew many things that 
he never talked about. He had bowed gravely as he 
entered, and took in the whole situation, with his saga- 
cious green eyes, at a glance. 

“Graham,” said Lady Gilmore, addressing him, “I 
wish you to order a carriage at once to take this young 
person to the station, and I wish you to go with her to 
town. My orders are that you see her safely to her 
mother’s house, wherever it be, and you have not to let 
her out of your sight until you leave her there. ” 

Graham respectfully drew his thirty-guinea gold watch 
out of his pocket, and contemplatively regarded its face. 

“There is a train for town passes the station at seven- 
ten, my Lady,” he said ; “if the young lady is quick we 
can catch that, for it is only five-thirty now, but we should 
leave here in a quarter-of-an-hour.” 

“That will just suit — you must catch it — do you hear, 
Miss Loftus? and yon,” turning to the schoolroom maid, 
“go instantly and pack Miss Loftus’ clothes.” 

Nancy made no further remonstrances : she walked out 
of the schoolroom with her pretty head raised high, and 
a strong sense of indignation in her heart. And she looked 
so handsome as she did this, that Lady Gilmore glanced 
after her with an undefined feeling of fear. Would Gil- 
more really give her up ? She might send her away from 
Wrothsley without his knowledge, but she might write, 
and he might follow her. But surely he would not be so 
mad. Yet even as this thought passed through her mind, 
her eyes fell on the glittering diamonds lying on the 
hearthrug, and she was too good a judge of precious 
stones not to know their value. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


105 

She muttered something, stooped down and picked up 
the necklace and restored it to its case. 

“ Did she steal it, mother ?" asked curious Miss Dossy. 

Lady Gilmore made no reply to this question. She 
remained in the schoolroom silent, gloomy, until she saw 
poor Nancy's luggage carried past by one of the footmen 
and the schoolroom maid ; but Miss Butler poured herself 
out some tea and drank it greedily. 

“We have had no tea, Miss Butler," said Dossy, address- 
ing her ; and as Miss Butler was helping her, Dossy 
again half-whispered : 

“Did she really steal the diamonds. Miss Butler? " 

“Do not ask any questions, Dossy, she is a very dis- 
graceful young person," answered Miss Butler. 

“ But I am sorry, she was always so kind," said the 
little girl. 

And presently when Nancy herself, dressed in her hat 
and cloak, walked passed the open schoolroom door, fol- 
lowed by the butler, also attired for travelling, Dossy and 
Flossy both half rose as though to bid her good-bye. 

“No, stay where you are," said their mother, “you 
have not to speak to her," and so, without a word of fare- 
well, Nancy was sent away. 

Lady Gilmore spoke to the butler for a moment, and 
gave him some money, and the butler then led the way to 
one of the back entrances of the castle, where a carriage 
stood waiting for Nancy, and having respectfully handed 
her into this, and seen her luggage sent on a light cart, the 
butler mounted on the box beside the coachman, and 
Nancy was once more alone. 

Alone with her bitter, bitter thoughts. The poor girl 
indeed quite broke down, and leaned back against the 
carriage, sobbing aloud, over this ignominious ending to 
her sojourn at Wrothsley. And the self-consciousness too 
that she was not quite blameless, that she had been foolish, 
perhaps imprudent, rankled in her hearty 

“Oh, what will mother say, what will mother say ! " 
she moaned half aloud ; and then suddenly remembered, 
with burning cheeks, that Aunt Fannie was also still with 
Mrs. Loftus, and Nancy knew she had no mercy to expect 
from Mrs. Barclay's rough-edged tongue. 

Her face was pale, and her eyes red and swollen when 
she reached the station, and tremblingly produced her 
meagre little purse. But Graham, the butler, observing 


Io6 A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 

this action, though pretending not to see the tear-stains, 
advanced in his respectful way. 

“ My Lad y,” he said, “ordered me to pay all the ex- 
penses of the journey ; and he at once took a first-class 
ticket for Nancy, and a second-class ticket for himself; 
and, during the journey, at each station, went to Nancy's 
carriage-door to inquire if she would take tea or any other 
refreshment 

At one of the stations Nancy did drink a cup of tea, for 
she felt faint, worn and cold, and it was ten o’clock before 
they arrived at Paddington, with the prospect of a long 
drive also, ere they reached Nancy’s little suburban home. 

It was a very dreary drive this ! Nancy’s heart sank 
lower and lower as they went on, for she would be forced 
to give some explanation at once, for her unlooked for 
return. And the true one was so painful, so degrading 
Nancy felt. But at last they reached the (in summer) 
pretty street in West Hampstead, in which Mrs. Loftus 
lived. The cab stopped, and Graham went to the door to 
inquire the number of the house, and Nancy gave it with 
a faltering tongue. 

Again the cab stopped — she was at home — returned 
poorer than when she went away ; and the two ladies in 
the house — Mrs. Loftus and Mrs. Barclay — hearing the 
ring at the street door, at this — for them — late hour, 
listened anxiously, while the new one-maid of the estab- 
lishment (with the exception of the dusky-skinned ayah) 
replied to the summons. 

There was a little parley, for the maid was a new one, 
and then Mrs. Loftus, rising hastily, heard her daughter’s 
voice in the passage. 

“It’s Nancy !” she cried, and the next moment she was 
clasping the poor, weary, trembling girl to her breast, and 
covering the tear-stained face with kisses. 

“ My darling ! What is the matter ? Why did you not 
let us know you were coming ? ” she asked anxiously ; and 
then her eyes fell on Graham, who was assisting the cab- 
man to carry in the luggage. 

The butler, seeing he had attracted the attention of the 
sad-faced lady in the widow’s cap, at once went forward. 

“ Pardon me, madam,” he said, “ for intruding at this - 
hour, but Lady Gilmore desired me to see the young lady 
safely home, and I have done so ; I presume I am address- 
ing Mrs. Loftus ? ” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION \ 


107 


“Yes, I am Mrs. Loftus — but why — ” 

“The young 1 lady will explain/* answered Graham ; “I 
think, Miss, all your luggage is right now ? ” 

“Oh, yes, thank you, but I must pay the cab,” said 
Nancy raising her head from her mothers breast. 

“That is all settled,” replied Graham respectfully ; “and 
now I will bid you good-evening, Miss, and I hope you 
are not much fatigued after your journey ? ” 

Nancy then tried to thrust one of her last half-sover- 
eigns into Graham’s hand, but that dignified man declined 
to receive any gratuity. He bowed gracefully to the 
mother and daughter, and then closed the street-door be- 
hind him, and as the cab drove away, Nancy’s head once 
more sank down on her mother’s shoulder. 

“ My dearest Nancy, how pleased I am to see you 
again,” said Mrs. Loftus fondly, drawing her closer. 

“Oh! but mother you don’t know — such a dreadfully 
disagreeable thing has happened,” half-whispered Nancy. 

“Never mind, darling, when it has sent you to me — 
tell your mother what it is, dear ? ” 

But Nancy found this beyond her strength at the pres- 
ent moment, for Mrs. Barclay, unable any longer to sup- 
press her curiosity, though she was terribly afraid of 
draughts, now advanced into the passage holding her 
handkerchief to her mouth, and looked at Nancy inquir- 
ingly and suspiciously. 

“ Well Nancy, this is a surprise ? ” she said from behind 
her handkerchief 

“Yes, Aunt Fannie,” answered poor Nancy in a sub- 
dued tone. 

“Come into the sitting-room my dear,” said gentle Mrs. 
Loftus, and when Aunt Fannie had followed the mother 
and daughter there, after carefully closing the door behind 
her, she once more regarded Nancy suspiciously. 

“ I hope, Nancy,” she asked, “ that this does not mean 
that you have had some disagreement with Lady Gil- 
more ? ” 

Nancy was silent for a moment, and Aunt Fannie 
immediately was satisfied that her surmise was correct. 

“However did you allow such a thing to happen she 
said. “I warned you, you know, to be very submissive 
in your manner to her Ladyship. Dear me, dear me ! 
and to go and lose such an excellent situation almost at 
once ! ” 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR, 


108 

“Nancy will tell us all about it presently/' said Mrs. 
Loftus ; “ after she has got her hat and cloak off, and is 
rested a little. Let us go upstairs to my room now, Nancy 
dear, and when we come down you will tell Aunt Fannie 
how it has all happened. 

Nancy was only too glad to avail herself of this sugges- 
tion, and followed Mrs. Loftus to her bedroom with a 
heavy heart. Then, when she got there, she once more 
nestled to her mother s breast. 

“Oh ! mother, I have got into such trouble/' she said 
in a broken voice. 

And presently by dint of gentle inquiries and fond 
words, Mrs. Loftus heard the whole story, and even her face 
grew very grave as she listened to Nancy's faltering ex- 
planation of her unlooked-for return. . 

“ But my dear, did you really go and meet this young 
Lord secretly ? ” she asked anxiously. 

Nancy was obliged to confess that this was so, “ only 
once or twice you know," she added with her dark soft 
eyes cast down, and as her mother looked at her she 
could not suppress a heavy sigh. 

“She is too young and too handsome to go into the 
world alone," she was thinking, “ poor, poor fatherless 
child ! " 

“ But Lady Gilmore need not have been so rude, so 
insulting,” said Nancy plucking up some spirit. “There 
was no such great harm in talking to him for half-an-hour 
sometimes, but I know who made all the mischief — a Miss 
Butler who is staying there, and who wants to marry 
Lord Gilmore, only he doesn’t care for her at all." 

Again Mrs. Loftus sighed softly, and then went to see 
after her young daughter’s refreshment. Aunt Fannie, 
whose appetite was capricious, though good, had had a 
toothsome fowl cooked for her own early dinner during 
the day, and the remainder of this bird she soon beheld 
to her annoyance, and scarcely concealed vexation, now 
brought up on a tray to assist at her niece’s supper. Aunt 
Fannie had reckoned on it stewed with oysters for the next 
day, and to see Nancy eating a portion of it after being 
returned upon their hands in such an extraordinary, nay, 
disgraceful, manner, was more than this good woman’s 
temper could bear. 

She therefore retired to bed in a dudgeon, after various 
muttered prognostications of speedy ruin overtaking them 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. JO g 

all, and thus not a little added to Nancy’s discomfiture. 

Nevertheless she slept soundly, and dreamed that she 
was standing again with Gilmore, in the dimly lighted 
corridor at Wrothsley, with the old armor frowning 
down from the walls, in grim contrast to the dalliance of 
youth and love. 


CHAPTER XV. 

NOT AT THE TRYST. 

And now shall we see how it was faring with Gilmore, 
while the girl who had won his fancy lay dreaming of 
him, after being ignominiously sent forth from under his 
roof for his sake ! He was, however, in a state of happy 
ignorance of this fact until the next evening after Nancy 
had left Wrothsley. Lady Gilmore, in truth, exhausted with 
the rage and excitement she had gone through, felt quite 
unequal to face her son, and made the same excuse as 
Miss Butler had done the day before for not appearing 
either at dinner after her stormy interview with Nancy, 
nor yet on the following morning. 

Miss Butler also was too angry and sore to care to speak 
to Gilmore, and he was thus left by the two ladies to 
amuse himself as best he could. Gilmore never cared 
very long to do this. He was no great reader, and the 
time hung rather heavy on his hands, lightened, however, 
by pleasing excitement when he thought again and again 
of his late interviews with Nancy, and dreamed of those 
to come. 

It was, of course, very well known in the household 
that the governess had been turned out of it, and it was 
also pretty shrewdly guessed why. One of the head 
gardeners had not forgotten the evening when Miss Lof- 
tus had walked under the spreading palms with the young 
lord, and they had been seen together too in the park. 
The fact that the butler had been sent to town with Miss 
Loftus spoke volumes ; and thus Gilmore’s valet, when 
he was attending to him in the evening before he retired 
to bed, and helping him to dress the next morning, did 
not dare to presume to mention Miss Loftus’ name to him, 
not knowing how much his lord knew and did not 
know, 


I IO 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


Gilmore therefore was in complete ignorance of his 
mother’s conduct, and poor Nancy’s banishment, and 
spent the morning in reading a French novel, smoking 
cigarettes, and thinking of her. 

“ My little beauty, my little darling,” he said softly to 
himself again and again, recalling the soft light in Nancy’s 
dark eyes, and the smiles on her rosy lips. The time, in 
truth, seemed endless to him until he could go to keep 
their tryst ; and he watched the shadows darkening, and 
the mist lying over the park deepening from gray to dusk 
with absolute impatience. 

At last the hour came, and Gilmore made his way to 
the corridor where he expected to meet Nancy, but as we 
know no Nancy was there. He went at half-past four, 
and he waited until a quarter-past five by the green baize 
door, and then he could bear it no longer. He therefore 
walked down the corrider to the schoolroom door, and 
having rapped, and been told to enter by Dossy’s voice 
from within, did so, and found the only occupants of the 
room were the two children and the schoolroom maid. 

“Gilmore ! ” cried both the little girls with delight, as 
they jumped up from the table and ran towards him. 

The maid now retired and Gilmore, finding himself 
alone with his young sisters, at once asked them where 
Miss Loftus was. 

“ Oh ! don’t you know,” said Dossy, “about the awful 
row ? ” 

“What row ? ” inquired Gilmore sharply. 

“Oh ! mother made a fearful row yesterday evening,” 
explained Dossy. “ Miss Loftus had been walking in the 
corridor, as she always does, you know, and then she 
came in here to give us some tea, and we were just sit- 
ing down when mother and Miss Butler walked in, and 
mother was in such a rage we were quite frightened.” 

“ What did she say ? ” asked Gilmore with a darkening 
brow. 

“She called Miss Loftus bad names — a disgraceful crea- 
ture, and a reprobate, I think, and she said she should 
never stay another night in the house — that she wasn’t fit 
to be in a house at all — and she packed her off there and 
then, and she sent Graham away with her, and we are 
so sorry.” 

“Sent her out of the house?” repeated Gilmore 
angrily. 


LAD V GILMORE'S TEMPT A TION. 1 1 1 

“Rather; but I don’t know what she had done, Gil- 
more, but mother snatched a jewel-case off the mantel- 
piece that Miss Loftus had laid down there a few minutes 
before, and shouted out — for oh ! didn’t she bawl — some- 
thing about inducing someone to meet her in dark pas- 
sages, and she said ‘ don’t deny it — this is my evidence !’ 
And she flung the case on the floor, and such lovely dia- 
monds came out, and — we are afraid she had been trying 
to steal them.” 

Gilmore’s face had grown dusky red during this narra- 
tive, and now something very like a curse burst from his 
lips. 

“ And what did Miss Loftus say ? ” he asked the next 
moment, trying to speak calmly. 

“Oh, she looked very proud, and told mother she was 
speaking to her and treating her disgracefully, and she 
said, ‘ Send for Lord Gilmore, and ask him the truth about 
this’ — I think that was what she said, and didn’t they go on 
at her after that, mother and Miss Butler too ; and mother 
said she should never have a chance of seeing you again, 
and enticing you — I am sure she said that — and they 
twitted her about her mother and said no end of horrid 
things.” 

“They ought to be ashamed of themselves,” said Gil- 
more passionately. 

“I thought so too,” answered Dossy with dignity; 
“and I asked what she had done — if she had stolen the 
diamonds, and they had caught her — but they told me to 
• hold my tongue.” 

“What folly! Stolen the diamonds indeed; why, I 
could not induce her to take them.” 

“ Oh ! I’m so glad ! ” cried Dossy. “ You gave thern 
to her, then, Gilmore? I thought as much.” 

“ I gave them to her, and I bought them for her, and I 
suppose Miss Butler is at the bottom of all this, and it is 
out of jealousy and spite that they have insulted this 
poor girl. But my mother shall repent it, bitterly repent it, ” 
continued Gilmore, beginning to walk up and down the 
schoolroom with hasty steps and a frown upon his brow. 

“ Now, when I think of it,” said Dossy, sagely, “ I do 
believe Miss Butler has been at the bottom of the row, 
Gilmore, for I remember her asking me questions about 
you and Miss Loftus ; if you knew her, and I said ‘ Oh 
yes ; ’ and if you came to the schoolroom ever, and it 
you ever >valke4 with us, and so on,” 


I 12 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


“ And what did you say ? ” 

* ‘ I told her you never came to the schoolroom, though 
you were so near to us, and I showed her the door at the 
end of the corridor that leads to your rooms, you know ; 
but I said you walked with us sometimes/’ 

“ With you and Miss Loftus ? ” 

“ Yes ; we had a good long talk about it, and she asked 
about the unused bedrooms at the end of the corridor, and 
no end of things — she was very curious, now I remem- 
ber/’ 

Gilmore gave a hard and bitter laugh. He understood 
it all now ; this girl had acted as a spy, and had probably 
seen and overheard some of his interviews with Nancy. 
He remembered, too, how he had spoken of Miss Butler, 
and he laughed again at the thought. But he was very 
angry. He stood silent, with his back to the fire, as his 
little sister went prattling on ; telling him all the details 
of Nancy’s departure, and how the schoolroom-maid had 
said that Graham had come back from town in the mid- 
day train ; and how the coachman had told the maid he 
was sorry for Miss Loftus, for that when they got to the 
station, her eyes were all red and swollen with crying, 
and she seemed in a very bad way. 

“ Do you know her address in town, Dossy? ” presently 
asked Gilmore, abruptly interrupting Dossy’s discourse. 

But Dossy did not know it. 

“ Mother would not even let us say good-bye to her, 
you know,” she told Gilmore; who nodded twice, then 
stooped down and kissed both his little sisters. 

“Thank you for telling me all this,” he said ; “but 
don’t tell mother that you have done so, nor that spy, 
Miss Butler. Keep it a secret, Dossy and Flossy ; ” and 
with a smile and another nod he went away. 

He proceeded straight to his own suite of rooms, and 
when he reached them rang the bell, and ordered Graham 
the butler to be sent to him at once. 

This was such an unusual proceeding, that under 
the circumstances Graham received the message with a 
troubled heart. But it had to be obeyed, and a few 
minutes later the butler was standing before the young 
lord. 

Gilmore did not beat about the bush, but made the 
inquiries he intended to ask, in a tone of authority. 

“You were sent by Lady Gilmore up to town last 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


n 3 

evening with Miss Loftus,” he said. “ To what address 
there did you take her ? ” 

Graham hesitated a moment. He quite understood the 
situation. “My lady has sent the governess away on 
the account of my lord/’ he knew ; and Graham was a 
prudent man, and wise wherewithal in his generation, 
and would very much have preferred not to have been 
asked this question. He therefore cast down his eyes, 
and assumed an air of thoughtful consideration. 

“ It was towards the West Hampstead way, my lord/’ 
he said, “but of course not being acquainted with that 
district, the exact name of the street just at the present 
moment, has escaped my mind.” 

“ Please recall it then, and give me an exact answer,” 
said Gilmore sharply, and Graham after another moments 
hesitation, and also remembering that he was dealing 
with his lord, and that after all Lady Gilmore was only 
the dowager, discreetly drew out a pocket-book to which 
he referred. 

“I may have it here, my lord,” he remarked, “excuse 
my looking — yes, my lord, here it is — Mrs,. Loftus, 17 
Priory-road, West Hampstead ; the young lady gave it to 
me I remember, now, to direct the cabman.” 

Gilmore took down the address in silence, and then drew 
out a five pound note. 

“Thank you,” he said, “ and as I do not wish to get 
you into any trouble with Lady Gilmore, you need not men- 
tion to anyone that you gave me the address — take this 
for your trouble. ” 

Graham bowed low as the crisp note touched his 
fingers, and was satisfied now that he had answered pru- 
dently. 

“ And send Foster to me at once,” continued Gilmore 
looking at his watch, “ and order a carriage round, to 
take me to the station to catch the ten minutes past seven 
train. I am going to town, but do not mention this in the 
household until after I am gone.” 

Again Graham bowed low, and then hurried away to 
obey the orders of his lord. 

“She's too 'igh’anded, is my lady,” he reflected as he 
went; “she was the same with the late un, and they 
won't stand it, it's no good.” 

He was mentally referring to the late Lord Gilmore, 
whose quarrels with his wife, and their causes, Graham 

8 


1 14 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR , 


had been very well acquainted with. But he made haste 
to send Gilmores valet, Foster, to him, and when he 
appeared Gilmore ordered him at once to pack. 

“I am going to town for some time, so gather up all 
my belongings,” he told the valet ; and while Foster was 
busy doing this he sat down to write a note to his mother. 

“ Dear mother,” he wrote, ‘‘I am leaving Wrothsley 
this evening for an indefinite time, as I do not choose to 
have a spy set to watch my actions, nor that a young lady 
should be insulted merely because I have been civil to 
her. — I remain, yours truly, Gilmore.” 

“P.S. — Kindly return the diamond necklace, which be- 
longs to me, to the house at Eaton Square.” 

He gave this note to the butler to deliver before he left. 

“Give it to Lady Gilmore at dinner-time, but not 
before,” he told him; “if she inquires if you gave me 
the address I asked for, you can tell a lie about it if you 
like — say you didn’t.” 

Once moj;e Graham bowed low, and smiled a little 
grimly. 

“Very well, my lord,” he said. 

Many lies had this discreet man told in the old days, 
and somehow he always happened never to be found out. 
He had a quiet tongue for one thing which never babbled 
unnecessarily, and this is a great and precious gift. And 
before the night was over he thought it incumbent upon 
him to lie again. 

In the meanwhile Gilmore had left Wrothsley, and while 
his mother was trying to summon up courage to reproach 
him for his conduct with Miss Loftus, he was quickly 
speeding out of her way. She made up her mind at last, 
and about eight o’clock in the evening went to his rooms, 
which to her immense surprise and consternation, she 
found empty. 

She violently rang the bell, which was answered by one 
of the footmen. 

“Where is Lord Gilmore? ” she asked, impatiently. 

“ I cannot say, my lady,” answered the footman, who 
knew perfectly well, but who thought the storm might as 
well fall on other shoulders than his own. 

“Send his valet to me,” commanded my lady. 

The footman bowed and retired, well knowing that the 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


”5 

valet was at this moment travelling- with his lord to 
London, but that of course was no business of his. 

He returned in a few minutes. 

‘‘Foster, my lord’s valet is not in the Castle, my lady,*’ 
he said: “he has gone -to town with my lord in the 
seven o’clock train. ” 

“To town ! ” repeated Lady Gilmore, and her face 
grew pallid, and she staggered forward and grasped the 
back of a chair. “ Who told you this?” she asked the 
next moment. 

“The butler, my lady,” answered the footman. 

“Tell him instantly to come here,” cried Lady Gilmore ; 
and Graham went, feeling that he had been thrust into a 
most unfair and difficult position. 

“ What does this mean ? ” asked Lady Gilmore the mo- 
ment he appeared. “Am I to understand that Lord Gil- 
more is gone without seeing me ; without telling me of 
his intentions?” 

“My lord left a note for you, my lady,” answered Gra- 
ham, quietly. 

“A note?” Then why was it not delivered to me at 
once ? ” 

“My lord gave me particular orders not to do so my lady; 
he said — give this to Lady Gilmore at dinner-time, but not 
before — this is the note my lady.” 

Lady Gilmore snatched it impulsively from the man’s 
hand, and as she read the hard words it contained, she 
gave a hoarse cry of anguish and passion. 

“ Who has told him all this? Who has told him about 
that girl ? ” she asked, the next moment, turning like a 
fury on the butler. “Did you, Graham? It must have 
been you ! ” 

“It certainly was not, my lady,” answered the butler, 
firmly. 

“ Who told him then ? ” 

“ That I cannot say ; certainly not me ; but this even- 
ing my lord sent for me, and he knew then that I had 
taken Miss Loftus last night to town, for he told me so.” 

“ Did he ask for her address ? ” 

“ No, my lady, he made no inquiries,” said the butler, 
unblushingly. “He simply told me he was going to 
town, and that I was to give you the note at dinner- 
time.” 

“She has written to him,” thought Lady Gilmore, de- 
spairingly : “and Kate Butler has done all this,” 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


1 16 

The poor woman in her anger and fear next acted very 
unjustly. She ran to Miss Butler’s room, carrying Gil- 
more’s note in her hand, and to the great indignation of 
that young lady began to abuse her without stint. 

“ Look what you have made me do ! ” she cried. Gil- 
more is gone — he has gone after that girl, andjie says we 
have been spying on his actions, and so we have ? ” 

“ His conduct was very disgraceful,” said Miss Butler, 
turning suddenly red. 

“You have only made it worse; you watched him, 
and got me to watch him, and this is the end ! ” 

Miss Butler shrugged her shoulders. 

“ The end would probably have been the same in any 
case,” she said ; “ the girl, I suppose, has written to him, 
and you would not have cared, under the circumstances, 

I conclude, to have kept her in the house ? ” 

“You have only done harm!” raged Lady Gilmore. 
“ and you have sent my son away from me ! ” 

But it is needless to write any more of her unseemly 
words. The quarrel ran so high that Miss Butler wrote 
to her mother the same evening, to tell her that she would 
return home the next day. “ As for Gilmore,” Miss Butler 
added, “ his conduct is such that it would be impossible 
for any respectable girl to marry him ; I shall tell you 
more when I see you,” and so on. 

Thus ended Lady Gilmore’s scheme about the marriage 
of her son ; and when the grand-aunt at Gateford Manor 
House heard of her failure, and the story about the gover- 
ness — for she always contrived to know everything that 
happened at Wrothsley — she said, spitefully, that she was 
not surprised. 

“ My lady always puts her foot into everything,” she 
said; “and as for Gilmore, he’s his father over again, 
every inch.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE LAST BLOW. 

Mrs. Barclay was very bitter indeed about Nancy’s 
ruturn, and when during the next day Mrs. Loftus was 
forced to admit that the cause of it was “some folly 
about young Lord Gilmore talking to her,” Aunt Fannie 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


n 7 

at once declared that Nancy’s conduct had been dis- 
graceful. 

“She always was a girl who tried to attract attention/' 
she said virtuously, “ and you see this is the end of it. 
What are you going to do about it, Lucy, for it is quite 
impossible that you can afford to keep her at home, and 
who will take her as a governess now, when both Lady 
Gilmore and Lady Blenkensop will of course have turned 
against her? ” 

Mrs. Loftus however did not take quite such a dismal 
view of Nancy's shortcomings. 

“I will write to Lady Blenkensop and explain,” she 
said ; “Lady Gilmore is known to be a very quick-tem- 
pered woman, and I hope it will all come right ; after all 
it was not such a very dreadful thing for a young man to 
like to talk to a pretty girl.” 

Aunt Fannie shook her head. 

“Ladies in their position won't stand that kind of 
thing,” she said; “I consider that Nancy has thrown 
away her one chance in life, and she will never have 
another. ” 

All this was of course, very trying to poor Nancy, for 
Aunt Fannie considered it her duty to be disagreeable the 
whole day, and made constant allusions to their want of 
means, and misfortunes in general. Nancy tried to play 
with the children, and forget her wounded feelings, but 
somehow she could think of no one but Gilmore, and 
kept wondering what he would feel and what he would 
do when he found out how disgracefully she had been 
treated. 

And she knew the next morning, for the early post 
brought her a letter from him which Gilmore had written 
after he arrived in town the night before, and which filled 
Nancy’s heart with the wildest excitement. 

“ My dear sweet Nancy,” the girl read with dewy eyes 
and a beating heart, “I cannot tell you what I felt when 
I went to our old trysting-place this afternoon at half-past 
four, and you never came ! I waited until a quarter past 
five, and then I could bear the suspense no longer, and so 
went to the schoolroom door and rapped. Dossy called 
to me to go in and I went, and found only the children 
and their maid. The maid went away, and then Dossy 
told me the whole story, and how shamefully you had 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


1 1 8 

been treated. My blood boiled as I listened, and I soon 
found out from Dossy how it had all happened. That 
wretched girl Kate Butler had learnt from the little ones 
that I knew you, and I am almost sure had watched us— 
nay I am sure she did — so, without saying a word to my 
mother, I left Wrothsley by the evening train, and before 
I left I got your address from Graham. 

“And now, my dear sweet Nancy, when and where 
shall I see you ; do let it be to-morrow, for I can wait no 
longer. When you get this, therefore, will you send, me 
a telegram, and I shall meet you at any place and at any 
hour you appoint. Do not disappoint me, for I have so 
much to tell you. And I remain ever lovingly yours, 

“ Gilmore/* 

Nancy kissed these lines after she had read them and 
they brought hope to her heart, and yet she felt she could 
not deceive her mother, and go to meet Gilmore without 
her knowledge. Therefore she wrote to tell him this, 
and went out and posted the letter long before Aunt 
Fannie had made her first appearance. 

“ Dear Lord Gilmore, ” a few hours later Gilmore read, 
w;ho had waited patiently all the morning in the house at 
Eaton-square, expecting a telegram from Nancy ; “I was 
very glad to get your letter, for the way in which I was 
treated at Wrothsley made me very unhappy. But I 
cannot go out to meet you, for it would vex my dear 
mother very much, and I cannot deceive her, for she is so 
good and kind to me, and I love her so dearly. But I 
hope you will not quite forget me, and I shall often think 
of the happy hours we spent together, which I suppose 
were too good to last. — Yours very sincerely, 

“ Nancy.” 

Lord Gilmore was a spoilt child of fortune, and every 
wish of his heart had always been his. Therefore this 
letter of Nancy’s first made him very angry, and then 
made him more determined than ever to see her, and more 
in love with her than ever, too ! 

He received it about two o’clock, and by three he had 
made up his mind. He would go to her mother’s house 
to see her, whatever it cost him. And he did go. Nancy 
was sitting alone, thinking sadly enough, in the little 
drawing-room without a fire, for Mrs. Loftus’s narrow 
means could only afford one in the sitting rooms ; and 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTAT/OM. 


I19 

Aunt Fannie, after making herself very trying during the 
early dinner, had fallen into a gentle doze over the dining- 
room fire, when she was roused by a hansom cab driving 
up and stopping at the street-door. 

She started to her feet and ran first to the mirror to see 
if her wig was straight, and then went to the room-door, 
and listened to try to learn who the visitor was ; and 
she distinctly heard a man’s voice inquire for “Miss 
Loftus. ” 

“ What name shall I say, sir? ” asked the maid ; and to 
Aunt Fannie’s great excitement and consternation she 
heard the answer : 

“Lord Gilmore.” 

“This is really most bare-faced,” thought Aunt Fannie, 
and while the two upstairs were standing with clasped 
hands, downstairs Aunt Fannie was in a state nearly 
bordering on distraction, for her sister-in-law Mrs. Loftus 
had gone out on an errand, and Aunt Fannie could not 
make up her mind what exactly it was her duty to do. 

In the meanwhile let us leave Aunt Fannie in her 
perplexity, and listen to what the young pair are saying to 
each other in the tireless room. 

Nancy had started to her feet also when she heard the 
cab drive to the door, and stood with beating heart and 
bated breath during the few moments that followed, until 
Lord Gilmore’s name was announced. Then she went 
forward, pale, trembling, silent, and Gilmore also did not 
speak as he clasped both her hands. 

“You see I could not wait,” he said at last. 

“ It — it is very good of you,” faltered Nancy. 

“Good!” echoed Gilmore; “good to myself, you 
mean, Nancy. I have been just mad since I heard the 
shameful way you have been treated ; but it was all that 
horrid girl, I am sure, and my only consolation is thinking 
how her ears must have tingled when I was abusing her, 
if she was listening to us. ” 

“ How could she listen ? ” asked Nancy, with a charm- 
ing blush, remembering certain foolish words. 

“I have an idea, from something the child Dossy said, 
that she had hidden herself in one of those rooms at the 
end of the corridor, that I always thought were kept 
locked. But what matter if she did listen ? I only care 
because it has brought worry and pain to you. 

“Oh ! it was so dreadful, Lord Gilmore 1 


120 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, \ OR , 


“ Don’t vex yourself about* it any more, my sweet Nancy, 
— and so you wouldn’t come, and meet me, you dear, 
naughty little witch ? ” 

“My mother would be angry.” 

“ And you never thought, I suppose, that I should be 
angry if you didn’t ? I was angry, I can tell you, but I 
came to town to see you, and I wasn’t going to be 
baulked. ” 

“But Lord Gilmore ” 

‘ ‘ What about your pretty ‘ buts ’ ? ” 

“You know we can’t go on seeing each other.” 

“Oh, can’t we? We just can then, sweet Nancy; 
nothing will induce me to give you up.” 

By this time Mrs. Loftus had returned to the house, and 
as she entered the dining-room, Aunt Fannie majestically 
rose to the occasion. 

“Who do you think is upstairs, Lucy; I ask you, 
who ? ” she said, with extreme gravity. 

Mrs. Loftus’s delicate complexion changed. 

“ With Nancy ? ” she asked quickly. 

“Yes, with Nancy. I consider it monstrous — Lord 
Gilmore is upstairs. ” 

“He may have called to apologize, ” faltered Mrs. 
Loftus. 

“ Nothing of the sort! He has called to continue an 
acquaintance which can only have a bad and. Now, 
Lucy, will you do your duty, or shall I? Your duty is to 
forbid this man to come to this house, where you may be 
sure he only comes for improper purposes ; do not forget 
that though you are poor, your husband and Nancy’s 
father was a gentleman and my brother, and my husband 
also was a gentleman, both in the service.” 

Mrs. Loftus, who was a timid and retiring woman hesi- 
tated. 

“ Will you do it, or shall I?” continued Aunt Fannie 
determinately. 

“ I shall go and speak to him,” said Mrs. Loftus ; “of 
course, he should not come here.” 

And, with a sinking heart, Mrs. Loftus did go upstairs, 
and as she opened the drawing-room door the two inside, 
who were standing suspiciously near to each other, started 
suddenly apart. 

“ My mother — Lord Gilmore,” said Nancy nervously. 


LADY OIL MORE'S TEMPT A T/OAT. 1 2 1 

Mrs Loftus bowed gravely, and Gilmore bowed, and 
then Mrs. Loftus found courage to speak the words she 
come to say. 

“I think, Lord Gilmore,” she said steadily enough, 
“ that under the circumstances you should not come 
here.’’ 

“ It was the circumstances that emboldened me to 
come,” answered Gilmore ; “ the disgraceful way in 
which your daughter was treated under my roof must be 
my excuse,” 

“ Still it is unwise — my daughter is only a young girl, 
and I cannot permit ” 

“Mrs. Loftus,” interrupted Gilmore, as Mrs. Loftus hesi- 
tated and paused, “I am sure you cannot suspect me 
of anything but honorable motives in coming here — I 
came to ask your daughter to be my wife.” 

A little startled exclamation burst from Nancy’s lips at 
this announcement, which certainly had not been made to 
her ; and Mrs. Loftus’s delicate face flushed deeply. 

“ It is a great honor to Nancy,” she said falteringly ; 
“ but your mother ” 

“ My mother has nothing whatever to do with my ac- 
tions, and the way she treated Nancy was enough to dis- 
gust any man. In fact, there is just one request I have 
to make, if Nancy here will honor meby accepting me ? ” 
and Gilmore ardently caught Nancy’s little hand in his. 
“ And this request is that my mother should know noth- 
ing of our engagement until after our marriage — which I 
hope Nancy will permit to be very soon ? ” 

“ I think that I had better leave you two to settle your 
own affairs,” smiled Mrs. Loftus. “ Thank you, Lord 
Gilmore, for your generous and noble conduct to my 
child.” 

“ Well, have you turned him out?” asked Aunt Fannie, 
eagerly, as Mrs. Loftus re-entered the dining-room. 

“ Hush, Fannie, you do not understand,” answered the 
proud, fond mother, whose dark eyes were wet with 
tears, “ he came to ask Nancy to be his wife.” 

“ I will never believe it,” began Aunt Fannie, posi- 
tively. 

“ It is a fact, nevertheless,” said Mrs. Loftus, with mild 
triumph, “ and their marriage will take place very soon, 
I believe — Lord Gilmore has behaved very nobly.” 


122 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR , 


Aunt Fannie was speechless for some minutes after this, 
and sat with her eyes fixed with a stony expression of 
utter astonishment ; then presently she roused herself. 

“It is a very odd thing,” she said nodding her head 
sagely, “ but do you remember, Lucy, what I said to you 
about Nancy, when it was first fixed that she had to go to 
Lady Gilmore’s ? ” 

“ No, Fannie, what did you say ? ” 

“ I said that girl was sure to make a good match — there, 
and you see I have been right, though of course I never 
thought of her entering the peerage — it’s just wonderful, 
and her poor father would have been a proud and happy 
man if he had lived to see this day ! ” 

“ We ought all to be very, very thankful,” said Mrs. 
Loftus, gently, and no words were ever more truly spoken 
from a woman’s heart. 

And in the golden days that followed, Mrs. Loftus had 
no reason to change her first opinion of Gilmore. He 
almost lived at the little house in West Hampstead, and 
seemed never happy when Nancy was out of his sight. 
She was his last new toy in fact — the sweetest, the dear- 
est one — he told himself, and he was really and truly in 
love with her, and he did not regret the words he had 
spoken to her mother, almost without consideration, 
which had plighted his troth to Nancy. He had seen, in 
fact, that he would lose her unless he married her, and 
he was ready to make any sacrifice rather than do this. 

And Nancy? She was a blithe and happy maiden in 
these days, with her handsome lover by her side, and a 
bright future lying before her, athwart which no shadow 
seemed to fall. Their engagement by Gilmore’s wish 
was kept a profound secret from all but the members of 
the family, and even when Lady Blenkensop wrote a most 
severe letter to Nancy — having heard Lady Gilmore’s 
story — by Gilmore’s request she made no reply to it. 

He treated a letter which he received from his mother 
in the same fashion. In this letter Lady Gilmore implored 
her son not to become “entangled with a young woman 
whose character was of so degraded and low a nature, that 
she would actually plan meetings with gentlemen in 
dimly-lighted passages,” and so on ; and she entreated 
him most earnestly to return to Wrothsley. 

These letters however had one effect, they made Gilmore 
most anxious to be married immediately, “to prevent any 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION , . 


i n 

more worry,'’ he told Nancy, and they made Nancy and 
Mrs. Loftus also desirous that Nancy’s real position with 
Lord Gilmore should be known. Gilmore had other and 
private reasons also for haste and secrecy about his mar- 
riage, and therefore just two weeks after Nancy had been so 
ignominiously sent home from Wrothsley, very quietly 
one early morning, Hugh Gifford, third Lord Gilmore, 
was married to Nancy Loftus, in the Parish Church. 

Aunt Fannie behaved most generously on the occasion, 
and presented one hundred pounds to the happy bride, 
and her bridegroom’s lavish hand provided her with 
everything she could require. But none in the street or 
the neighborhood knew that the marriage was going to 
take place except the clergyman who married them, until 
it was over, nay until the bride and bridegroom svere 
actually gone. 

But before he left, Gilmore wrote a letter to his mother 
to tell her that all her words and warnings had been in 
vain. 

“ Dear mother ” (he inscribed in his large scrawling 
handwriting), “I did not reply to your letter before because 
you used in it certain very unjust expressions of the girl 
to whom I was then engaged, and to whom I am now 
married. I was married this morning to Nancy Loftus, 
and I mean to take her abroad for a year or more, and I 
hope by the time of our return you will be reconciled to 
my choice. I for one am willing to let bygones be by- 
gones, and I think we had all better bury the hatchet ; 
but you see you did not act very wisely in turning Nancy 
out of the house, when she will return to it as its mistress. 
Please keep the diamonds I gave her safely until she re- 
quires them. With love to the children in which Nancy 
joins. I remain, yours sincerely, “Gilmore.” 

“There, will that do, my little one ?” he said, handing this 
letter to Nancy after he had written it, and we may be 
sure her smiling rosy lips thanked him for his words. 

They left Mrs. Loftus’s house half-an-hour afterwards, 
and the letter left too, and speeded on its way until it 
reached the great house which Sir Thomas Gifford had 
built in his pride, before he became the first Lord Gilmore, 
and where the second lord had lived and died, and where 
his children had been born. And it reached the hand of 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


m 

Lady Gilmore, who seized it with passionate haste, rec- 
ognising the handwriting of her son. But as she read the 
words it contained — words that crushed all her hopes to 
dust — a shriek so loud, so terrible, that the lofty roof 
rang, burst from her writhing lips, and utterances wild, 
self-accusing, and despairing, escaped her tongue. 

She walked up and down the room like a mad woman ; 
she wrung her hands, she cried aloud — 

“My sin has found me out 1 My sin has found me 
out ! ” 

But suddenly she stopped ; flung up her arms, and fell 
forward, stricken, paralyzed, on the floor. The violent 
emotions of her heart had shattered their frail tenement. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A CONFESSION. 

They lifted up the poor lady and carried her to her bed, 
with altered features, twisted form and silent tongue. 
They summoned doctors and sent for her priest, to whom 
she was wont to confess her sins and sorrows, always 
however keeping back one secret. But now this secret 
haunted her sick bed, and grew darker and blacker in her 
sight. 

Lady Gilmore was dangerously ill for many days after 
this, yet when they spoke before her of sending for her 
son, she ever made a mute sign of dissent. The story of 
his marriage was now known, and the people said Gil- 
more had broken his mother’s heart, and old stories were 
revived, old scandals whispered. 

Lady Blenkensop, when she heard that Lady Gilmore 
had been stricken with paralysis, after reading her son’s 
letter announcing his marriage, drove over to Wrothsley, 
partly in the hope that she would be able to reconcile her 
to his choice, by telling her that Colonel Loftus’ family 
were of the highest respectability. But the invalid refused 
to see her former friend, just as she refused to receive the 
old woman from Gateford Manor House, who went away 
grumbling because she was debarred from speaking the 
hard words she had meant to say. 

And it was strange that the children whom Lady Gil- 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


12 $ 

more had neglected in her overpowering affection for her 
son, now seemed the only consolation left to her. The 
little fair-haired twin-girls used to play about her room, 
and prattle to her by the hour, while the mother’s dark eyes 
rested fondly on their faces. She saw also Father Hay- 
ward occasionally, who for the last ten years had been 
her spiritual adviser and confessor, and who now came to 
pray earnestly by her side. 

One day when he arrived, a note sheet was put into his 
hand, on which the stricken lady had inscribed a few 
almost illegible words. 

“Father, pray that I may regain my speech,” read the 
priest, with genuine compassion and sympathy. He was 
an earnest man this, a sincere and devout follower of the 
creeds of his Church, and he knew and could read the 
wayward heart of this daughter of his faith, he believed, 
as an open book. But when he understood the pathetic 
words she had scrawled with her cramped and stiffened 
hand ; when he saw the eager desire for speech expressed 
in her restless eyes, it dawned upon his acute mind that 
Lady Gilmore had some especial motive for her prayer. 

“I will,” he said, in his ringing, sympathetic voice; 
“may God in His mercy grant, my daughter, that your 
tongue may be loosed.” 

And the good man’s prayers were answered. Gradually 
the violence of the paralysis diminished, and gradually 
speech came back to her ; at first mumbling and uncer- 
tain, and then more defined and clear. But more than 
three months passed away before Lady Gilmore could 
converse with any amount of distinctness. By this time 
also she was able to be wheeled in a Bath-chair along the 
terrace, yet she still positively refused to receive any visi- 
tors but her priest. 

But one day in the early spring-time Father Hayward 
received an especial message requesting him to go to 
Wrothsley at his earliest convenience. He went, and 
found Lady Gilmore sitting up in her boudoir, looking 
stronger and more erect than he had seen her since her 
illness. 

“Iam glad to see you looking so much better,” he said 
pleasantly. 

“I am well in body but ill in mind, Father,” she an- 
swered, as she returned his greeting. 

“Nay,” he said, seating himself by her side, “the ill- 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


26 

ness of your mind will pass away, I trust, with the bodily 
one ; your speech is almost now quite restored, for which 
great blessing we ought indeed to be most thankful. ” 

“It has been given back to me,” replied Lady Gilmore 
with twitching lips and tremulous words, “ for a purpose, 
Father. I have a confession to make to you — the confes- 
sion of a great sin.” 

“My daughter do not excite yourself thus ; your inner 
life has been known to me for many years, and its failings 
and follies have been blotted out by good deeds, and ever 
generous help to the afflicted of our faith. Wait until 
your health is completely restored before referring to any 
exciting topic.” 

“It will never be completely restored, Father, and I 
have no longer any time to waste ; I have waited patiently, 
and prayed earnestly that God would give me power to 
cleanse my soul of a great sin, for now I see its blackness, 
and in His great mercy He has done so, and I pray you 
to listen.” 

Father Hayward gravely bowed his head, for he per- 
ceived now that some strong and powerful motive was 
dictating Lady Gilmore’s solemn words. 

“I am ever ready to listen, my daughter,” he said, 
and to comfort if I can ; but do not, I entreat you, forget 
your recent illness.” 

“No, I shall try to keep calm. Father, I must go back 
to the early days of my wedded life — when — when I loved 
Lord Gilmore with the jealous, exacting love of a woman 
devoted to him ; of a woman who had married him not 
for his wealth, as he sometimes taunted me with, but for 
himself alone ! You know who I was, and the old blood 
which flows in my veins?” 

Again Father Hayward gravely bowed his head, think- 
ing sadly enough of the vain boast from these quivering 
lips. 

“It was not so with him as you know also,” went on 
Lady Gilmore, “ the Giffords had been but recently en- 
nobled, and in our early married days my husband was 
most anxious that an heir should be born to us. An heir 
was born,” she continued with increasing agitation. “A 
puny, mis-shapen babe, and when my husband first saw 
him he was bitterly disappointed and said some hard 
words, though he well knew their injustice.” 

Father Hayward now bit his lips, and a look of great 
anxiety stole into his gray and thoughtful eyes. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPT A TLOAI, 


I27 

“We had a quarrel, too, about in what faith the child 
should be reared ; my lord cared nothing really about 
these things, but he had been brought up a Protestant, and 
he said his child should be brought up one too, and my 
tears and entreaties were alike unavailing. Then a little 
more than a year afterwards another son was born — a 
beautiful boy this time, strong, sturdy, and fine-featured 
like his father, and Gilmore was proud of the child, and 
openly said he wished he had been the heir. And 
one night, while the two children were in their baths, 
he unexpectedly came into the nursery, and I saw his 
eyes fall with disgust on the form of the poor little eldest 
born. We had tried to keep it a secret from him — Nurse 
Brewster and I — but Gerard, the heir, was a hunchback, 
and this was the first time my husband actually knew 
this. He looked from one to the other — I see him yet — 
and shrugged his shoulders. 

“ ‘A nice heir you have given me, truly! Why the 
brat’s a hunchback ? ’ 

“He patted the head of the other child, and then went 
away, with a frown on his brow, and after he was gone 
Nurse Brewster, who was a north-country woman and 
had been reared on our property, said — 

“ * It would be the best thing that could happen if this 
poor little fellow were to go to a better place, I think. I 
fear my lord will never take to him.’ And she lifted 
Gerard out of his bath as she spoke. 

“ I did not speak for a moment ; I, too, was comparing 
the two children, and as I did so something evil seemed 
to whisper a subtle temptation in my ear ” 

“Not, surely ” cried Father Hayward, starting to 

his feet with a look of horror. 

“Shall I tell you what the tempter said ?” continued 
Lady Gilmore, passionately. “Remember that I loved 
my husband, and was jealous of him, and most eager to 
keep his love ! He said in my ear, ‘this child stands be- 
tween you two ; your lord loathes him, is ashamed of him, 
and will learn to hate you also for his sake. Why not 
put him out of the way ? Why not let the handsome boy 
become the heir?” 

“My daughter, surely you did not listen to the base 
suggestion ? ” 

“Not then, but again and again the thought came back 
to me, for Gilmore said hard and bitter words to me on 


128 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR, 


the subject, and often wished the child would die. He 
was delicate — the poor mis-shapen one — and gradually 
the temptation assumed form and shape in my mind. 
We would take little Gerard away, nurse and I, and pre- 
tend to his father he was dead, and bring him up in 
our faith, for Nurse Brewster is a Catholic also ; and I 
told myself in doing this I was thinking of the eternal 
salvation of the child, and so blinded my poor reason to 
a great injustice.” 

“And you carried out this scheme ? ” 

“ We carried it out to the bitter end. Gerard was deli- 
cate, as I told you, and one day I asked the doctor who 
attended him, if he thought the northern air — my native 
air — would be of any service to him, and the doctor an- 
swered that it would probably greatly strengthen him. I 
told my husband this, and he replied with a biting jest. 

“‘I wish you would give him change of air enough 
for me never to see him again/ he said. ‘ I cannot bear 
to look on him/ 

“These words stung me, and I made an angry passion- 
ate answer, and without seeing Lord Gilmore again I left 
the house, only taking little Gerard and Nurse Brewster 
with me. I left a few indignant lines for my husband, tell- 
ing him that, for a time at least, my child’s unnatural 
father should be spared the sight of his son. We were 
living here — at Wrothsley — when this quarrel took place, 
and I went up to our house in town for a few days, and 
whilst there, took Nurse Brewster into my confidence, 
and offered her a large sum and a good and regular in- 
come to aid me in my deceit. She was afraid at first, but 
the temptation of the money proved too strong for her, 
and she finally entered completely into my scheme.” 

“ But — but you surely did not injure the child? ” asked 
Father Hayward, with agitation. 

“ No, no, I would not have hurt a hair of his head ! I 
told myself he was unfit to move in the world ; unfit to 
be his father’s heir, and that I would bring him up to the 
priesthood, and that a holy peaceful life would be the hap- 
piest for him, and that my husband would love me more 
when he believed him to be dead, and when he looked on 
the handsome boy of whom he was so proud. So we ar- 
ranged it all — we went down to a lonely village on the coast, 
washed by the Northern Sea, where we were complete 
Strangers — and wo carried with us a little lead-lined coffin ; 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


129 

and from this place a few days later I wrote to my hus- 
band to tell him that little Gerard had taken scarlet fever, 
and was dangerously ill. He answered it would ‘ be a 
good thing if the poor hunchback never got well, for he 
would only cumber the earth if he did/ ” 

“And does this boy still live? ” 

“ I will tell you. We had taken a small furnished 
house, and no one knew anything of us, for I had brought 
no servants but Nurse Brewster ; and a week after we 
arrived at Scarley I wrote to Lord Gilmore to tell him he 
had got his wish, and that his poor baby son was dead. 

‘ He is already in his little coffin/ I added, ‘so there can 
be no infection ; ’ and I asked if I might bring him home. 
To this my husband answered that the coffin must be 
screwed down at once on account of Hugh — the other 
boy ; and he directed me then to bring the dead child to 
Wrothsley, and agreed to meet me at a certain train.” 

“And you did this ? ” asked Father Hayward, who was 
listening to Lady Gilmore’s startling words with strong 
but suppressed excitement. 

“ I did/' she answered, with a faltering tongue, though 
she was struggling to be calm. “ I started on my home- 
ward journey alone, taking with me, hidden away, the 
little empty coffin, which Nurse Brewster had securely 
fastened down ; and I left Nurse Brewster and the child 
at Scarley, and travelled quietly up to town, and when I 
arrived there I got a carriage, after telegraphing to the 
servants to expect me ; and, while in that carriage, for 
the first time, I uncovered the little coffin, and it was 
carried into the house at Eaton Square, and no one ever 
suspected I was committing a cruel wrong.” 

“ But the nurse ? How did you account for her not 
being with you ? ” 

“ We had settled all that — she had taken the fever — she 
was too ill to travel, and I wrote this to my husband too. 
This frightened him more than ever about infection, and 
he ordered another coffin to be made in which the one I 
brought was enclosed, and I watched them fasten this 
down also, and the next day, accompanied by some of 
the servants, I went to Wrothsley, and at the station 
Gilmore was waiting.” 

“And he never suspected? ” 

“Not for one moment. The little coffin, bearing the 
age and date of the poor child’s supposed death, was 

9 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR, 


130 

placed in a hearse and conveyed to the private chapel 
attached to the house here, and was buried in the family 
vault, where only the first Lord Gilmore then lay, though 
— now my husband — ” 

Here Lady Gilmore suddenly broke down, and sobs 
she could not suppress burst from her trembling lips. 

“I entreat you to compose yourself,” said Father Hay- 
ward, earnestly. “Consider, my daughter, that you alone 
can repair the wrong you did, that without your evidence 
it never can be undone.” 

“I will try,” she wept; “but — but it is all so bitter — 
to — think that the one for whose sake I did it at all — the 
son I loved too well, too well, should — have broken my 
heart ! ” 

“Confessed and repented sins can be blotted out,” said 
the father, gently. “You wish now that right and justice 
should be done ? ” 

“ I do, I do ! I wish now that this other son — the son 
I wronged — should take his rightful name and place in 
the world. That bitter birthright — his poor crooked form 
— was no fault of his, and Nurse Brewster tells me he has 
grown up strong and well.” 

“How has he been educated?” asked the priest, 
gravely. 

“He has been well educated at a Catholic seminary, 
but his personal defect stood in the way of his entering 
the priesthood. He has always passed as Nurse Brew- 
ster’s son, and about four years ago — when he was 
twenty-one — I advanced money to establish him on a 
farm, situated close to Scarley, I believe, and his reputed 
mother lives with him there.” 

“And have you ever seen him since you parted with 
him as a babe ? ” 

“Yes, but only rarely ; I was afraid to do so for the 
other’s sake. I saw him last when he was about fifteen, 
ten years ago now.” 

“ And you are sure this woman has not deceived you ? 
That this young man is actually your son ? ” 

“ I am as sure as that I am myself alive. Father, it is 
a strange thing, but this boy whom his father despised and 
hated, has inherited every feature of his face. He is a 
hunchback, and but for that Nurse Brewster has often told 
me that his likeness to her late lord is something mar- 
vellous, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


131 

Father Hayward was silent for a few moments ; he 
stood with his eyes cast down thinking what it was best 
to do. 

‘.‘And this Nurse Brewster would give direct evidence 
in the event of a trial, I suppose? ” he said, at last. “She 
would speak the truth ? ” 

“She dare do nothing else,” answered Lady Gilmore, 
a sudden flush rising to her pale face. 

“We cannot tell ; what other evidence could we bring 
forward ? ” 

“ What other evidence ! ” repeated Lady Gilmore, pas- 
sionately. “ Is my word not enough? But if other evi- 
dence is wanted, let them go to the family vault, and open 
the empty little coffin which lies there ! ” 

“ That, no doubt, is a strong point — but, my daughter, 
you have borne enough to-day — take some rest now, with 
this consolation to comfort you, that by this confession 
you have eased your soul of a heavy burden.” 

“ A heavy burden too great almost for me to bear ! ” 
repeated Lady Gilmore excitedly. “ I bore it for his sake 
— I should have died silent — if he had not acted as he 
has done. 

“Then let us be thankful that good has come out of 
evil, and may this stranger son prove the comfort and 
help of your declining days.” 

Other words he spoke to her which need not be written 
here ; words of peace and pardon, for the good man’s 
heart sorrowed for her, knowing well that the idol of her 
life was shattered, and all her earthly pride laid low. 
The world was nothing to her now she told him, and the 
one hope left to her was to cleanse her soul of this 
grievous sin. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE YOUNG FARMER. 

Three days later (Lady Gilmore having in the mean- 
while made a deposition of her confession before a mag- 
istrate), Father Hayward started for the village by the 
northern sea-board, where the late Lord Gilmore’s legit- 
imate heir had been hidden away and reared. The Father 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


132 

was not only a good and pious man, but an ardent and 
devoted upholder of the tenets of his Church, and the 
knowledge that this young man had been brought up a 
Roman Catholic made him doubly anxious that his rights 
should be at once fully established. The great wealth of 
the House of Gilmore was also present in his mind as he 
travelled northwards, and he was eager that its power and 
influence should be directed to what he naturally deemed 
the most righteous channels. He went armed with a 
letter to her son from Lady Gilmore, and also one to Nurse. 
Brewster, and he reached Scarley on a bright morning in 
the spring-time, a pale, white-flecked blue sky spanning 
the wide, green, rolling sea. 

An old world place this, with the fishermen's cottages 
perched near the edge of the beetling crags towering 
around the little bay. A quaint place, smelling of the sea 
and the sea-fish, with the great nets spread out to dry on 
the green banks, and the girls in their neat print bedgowns, 
and short blue skirts flitting about, jesting and singing 
as they go. Here and there a better house — the parson’s, 
the doctor’s — but for the most part the village is made 
up of the humble dwellings of the poor. Father Hay- 
ward walked on, inquiring his way as he went of bronzed, 
stalwart men, the children of the sea, who had been 
reared on its cliffs, and earned their bread on its waters, 
and ofttimes found their graves in its silent depths. 

“Cragside farmhouse? ” one of them answered, in his 
broad Northern tongue to the Father’s inquiries. “ Where 
the young hunchback lives ? Yon’s the house, over in the 
fields there and he pointed with his brown strong hand 
towards some wide, green, spreading pastures and fields 
of sprouting corn. 

Father Hayward courteously thanked him and pro- 
ceeded on his way, crossing the hilly ground immediately 
at the back of the village, and then entering the nar- 
row pathways, intercepted with rustic stiles, which led 
through the fields on the way to the comfortable-looking 
square farmhouse which had been pointed out to him. 

He passed through the first stile, and was nearing the 
second when he perceived what appeared at first sight to 
be two rural lovers sitting on it. They did not see him 
approaching, and the young man suddenly tried to put 
his arm round the girl’s slim waist. But she pushed him 
away with a smile and a blush, however, and jumped 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


lightly off the stile, followed a moment later by her 
swain. 

They were now face to face with the priest, and they 
saw him, though still some yards apart from him, and 
they instantly drew a little further away from each other, 
and the girl cast down her blue eyes. She was pretty, 
fresh-colored, and fair, and was dressed much in the same 
fashion as the other young women in the village, though 
perhaps a shade more trimly. Father Hayward glanced 
at her as he passed them, and then looked at her com- 
panion, and as he did so he slightly started. 

The young man was a hunchback. Not one second 
did the father doubt, as his acute gaze fell on the hand- 
some, smiling face before him, whose son this was. 
Father Hayward had known the second Lord Gilmore 
and remembered well the laughing, careless, somewhat 
reckless glance of his hazel eyes, and the full lips shaded 
by the thick brown moustache, and the bright brown 
hair. He might have been looking now on the dead man’s 
face, so remarkable was the likeness between sire and 
son. But Lord Gilmore’s tall, straight and powerful frame 
was lacking. This young man, though not little was but 
of moderate height, and was round-shouldered and hump- 
backed. But he looked strong and well, and his com- 
plexion was clear and sun-burned, and he had the ex- 
pression of a man on fairly good terms with himself, and 
his dress — that of a young farmer — displayed a certain 
amount of foppishness and care. 

“Can you kindly tell me if a Mrs. Brewster lives in 
that house?” asked Father Hayward addressing him, as 
they passed each other, and the young man at once 
stopped, and touched his cap. 

“Why, that’s my mother, sir,” he said, pleasantly ; “do 
you wish to see her ? ” 

“I have a message for her,” answered the priest, “shall 
I find her at home?” 

“ Quite sure, sir ; she rarely goes out. If you’ll excuse 
me a minute I’ll turn and go with you to the house.” 

The Father gravely bowed his head in acceptance of 
this proposition, and the young man ran on a step or two 
to overtake the girl who had walked on when the priest had 
addressed him. They exchanged a few whispered words, 
and then the young farmer returned. 

“And so you are Mrs. Brewster’s son ?” said Father 
Hayward, looking at him intently. 


134 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


“Yes, sir, I am Gerard Brewster/' he answered smiling, 
“ her only son.” 

“And you have always lived here ? ” 

“Yes, except when I was at school, you know ; but not 
at Cragside farmhouse, but in the village.” 

“ And that young woman ? ” 

“Oh, she’s an old friend,” said Gerard, with a blush 
and a laugh; “I have known her since she was a little 

girl.” 

“ And you farm this place ? ” 

“Yes, I’m a farmer ; we took the farm, mother and I, 
four years ago now.” 

“ Do you like the life ? ” 

“ It’s not a bad one as things go — not a money-making 
one though ? ” And again young Gerard laughed. 

By this time they had reached the garden-gate in front of 
the farmhouse, which Gerard opened for the Father to pass, 
and together they walked down the neatly-kept gravelled 
pathway between the flower-borders, which were bright 
with the spring blossoms. 

The house itself was a most substantial one. Square, 
with a long sloping tiled roof, a heavy stone portico and 
thick walls. And from without you saw the comfortable- 
looking dark red damask curtains within, and the neat 
white blinds. Everything, indeed, gave you the impres- 
sion that a well-to-do family lived in this quiet spot, stand- 
ing amid the green fields with the distant sound of the 
murmuring sea breaking on rock and shore. 

It passed through Father Hayward’s thoughtful mind as 
he looked around and then glanced at his companion, that 
the life here was perhaps a happier and more contented 
one for this young man than the life which lay before him 
amid luxury and rank. 

“ But it is his birthright, his duty,” the next moment the 
good Father reflected, remembering the interests of his 
Church. He therefore followed Gerard into the house, who 
led the way into a well-furnished room, where the table 
was prepared for the early dinner. 

“I’ll go and seek mother, ” said Gerard, with that pleasant 
smile of his. 

“ His manner is better then I expected,” thought Father 
Hayward, as he disappeared ; “no doubt he will worthily 
fill his new position.” 

But what would the reverend father have thought if 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


135 

he could, unseen, have followed Gerard's footsteps? The 
young man went first into the kitchen to seek his supposed 
mother, but was told she had gone upstairs to wash 
her hands in preparation for the mid-day meal. Thither he 
followed her, and rapped at Mrs. Brewster’s bedroom door, 
and, having been told to enter, went quickly in. 

“I say, mother,” he began, “there is one of those 
blackcoated gentlemen downstairs, and of course he’s come 
to get something or other out of us ; it is a perfect nuisance. ” 

“ Do you mean a priest, Gerard?” answered Mrs. 
Brewster. 

She was a gray-haired woman of some sixty-five or 
perhaps sixty-seven years old ; dressed well and respect- 
ably, and her features were good, and her expression deter- 
mined. 

“Yes, a priest, of course,” replied Gerard, with a shrug 
of his round shoulders. “What between the Vicar here and 
our people, they never let us alone ; please tell the reverend 
father that bankruptcy is staring us in the face ; ” and he 
laughed. 

“You should not speak so, Gerard, of the good fathers ; 
of course it is absurd of the Vicar coming to us.” 

“They are all the same,” answered the graceless Gerard, 
with a merry glance of his bright hazel eyes. 

Mrs. Brewster looked at him, and smiled too, and then 
patted his shoulders affectionately. 

“ You are a bad boy,” she said indulgently. “Let me 
see — where have I laid my purse?” 

The purse was lying on the dressing-table, and Gerard 
snatched it up with a light laugh. 

“What have you got in it? ” he said, jokingly. “Four 
pounds. Mother, I’ll only leave one and the silver, or of 
course you’ll give it all away.” 

He put the three pounds into his pocket as he spoke, 
and Mrs. Brewster only shook her head. 

“I’ll give you the money back when the priest is gone,” 
went on Gerard ; “ won’t you be glad then to get it ? ” 

Again Mrs. Brewster shook her head, and then went to 
the looking-glass and adjusted her neat, matronly cap, and 
having given this attention to her personal appearance, 
she presently descended the staircase, and entered the 
dining-room, where Father Hayward was standing. 

She bowed gravely and respectfully as she went into 
the room, and the father also returned her salutation 
very gravely. 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 


136 

“You are Mrs. Brewster?” said Father Hayward. 

“Yes, your reverence,” she answered. 

“ I have a message for you,” went on Father Hayward, 
yet more gravely ; “ a message from Lady Gilmore.” 

The woman's face suddenly flushed, and then grew 
pale. 

“From Lady Gilmore!” she repeated, as if in great 
confusion and surprise. 

“Yes ; the poor lady has been very ill — nigh unto death 
— and she has repented and confessed the great wrong 
that sh%and you did to her innocent son.” 

A half-cry broke from Mrs. Brewster's pallid lips, and 
she grasped the back of a chair near her as if for support. 

“I— I — do not understand,” she faltered out. 

“Yes, my daughter, you understand too well!” said 
the priest reprovingly and solemnly; “the young man I 
have just seen is no son of yours ; is in truth the eldest 
son of the late Lord Gilmore, and for twenty-four years you 
have carried on a base deception.” 

“It — was my lady,” gasped Mrs. Brewster. 

“Yes, she yielded to a vain and foolish temptation, 
and it has recoiled upon her own heart with great bitter- 
ness. The son for whose sake she robbed her first-born 
has married against her will, and altogether led a life far 
from creditable to him. But she has repented of her sin, 
and I pray, my daughter, that you also will confess and 
repent having aided her in a grievous wrong. ” 

Mrs. Brewster seemed quite overcome. She was a 
strong and healthful woman of her age, but she now sank 
down on a chair as if unable to stand. 

“What did she say? ” at length she faltered out. 

Then Father Hayward told her the whole story ; told 
her of the little empty coffin in the family vault at Wroths- 
ley, which bore the name of Gerard Gifford ; and how 
this had been opened in the presence of himself and a 
magistrate ; and he told her, also; that Lady Gilmore had 
written a letter to her, with her poor cramped hands, of 
which he was the bearer. 

“And I have one for her son, also,” he continued, 
“and she wishes him to go to her at once, so that she 
may bless him, and learn to love him before she dies.” 

Mrs. Brewster sat pale and silent as the priest detailed 
the overwhelming evidence of the fraud she had assisted 
to commit. 


LADY GILMORE’S TEMPTATION. 


137 

Can they/’ she asked at last, *•' do anything to me? ” 

“Legally you could be punished; but the case is* 
unlikely to go into court, as the young man who unjustly 
bears the name of Lord Gilmore would have no chance of 
winning it against the direct evidence of his mother and 
yourself. ” 

“But if I did not give mine?” said Mrs. Brewster 
slowly. 

“My daughter, you are old,” answered the priest sternly ; 
“ dare you face the inevitable moment of death ; the 
awful judgment beyond the grave, with a lie (ha your 
lips, where no lie will indeed avail you ? ” 

Mrs. Brewster was visibly moved by these solemn 
words. 

“Do not hesitate between good and evil,” went on 
the father earnestly ; “for long years have you lived a 
life of sin and deceit, but you have time to repent and be 
forgiven. Cleanse your conscience of this great burden, 
my daughter, and when you lie on your death-bed, be 
able to look up at the Holy Symbol of our faith, not in 
fear and trembling, but in faith and trust.” 

Still Mrs. Brewster hesitated. For twenty-four years she 
had carried this secret in her own bosom, and spoken of 
it to none. She had confessed to her priest, but like her 
lady this sin had never passed her lips. She was fond, 
too, of her adopted son, and from his delicate babyhood 
to his stalwart manhood had watched over him with the 
most devoted care. It was like rending all her past life 
in twain, to give up the child she had reared even to his 
own mother. 

“They will take him away from me, they will take his 
love away,” was passing through her mind, and the 
thought was full of bitterness. 


CHAPTER XIX. 
lady gilmore’s letter. 

In the meanwhile young Gerard was becoming very 
impatient at his supposed mother’s lengthened interview 
with the priest. It was his ordinary dinner hour for one 
thing, and he was blessed with a healthful appetite, and 


I3 8 a bitter birthright ; or, 

for another (seemingly by the strange laws of heredity) 
he alike lacked faith and reverence. 

“He is his father’s very son,” how often had Mrs. 
Brewster thought, as she listened to his careless words 
and looked on his handsome face. He had, too, a gay, 
pleasure-loving disposition, and a certain amount of per- 
sonal vanity, which in his case was somewhat remark- 
able ; the late Lord Gilmore also having been not a little 
proud of his own good looks. 

He therefore soon grew tired of waiting for Father 
Hayward to take his departure, and felt no scruple about 
going into the dining-room, in the hope of hurrying him 
away. But no sooner did he enter the room than he saw 
something very unusual had occurred. 

His mother was sitting with clasped hands, looking pale 
-^almost rigid — with an intensity of expression on her 
colorless face that he had never seen there before ; while 
in front of her stood the father, with upraised haftd, pour- 
ing out words of admonition and warning. 

Gerard glanced from one to the other in surprise, and 
as he did so, after a moment’s thought, Father Hayward 
addressed him. 

“You have entered on a strange scene,” he said, “for 
I came here on a strange purpose, and I trust you will 
now add your entreaties to mine to induce this woman, 
whom all your life you have believed to be your mother, 
now to speak the truth.” 

“ I don’t understand what you mean,” answered Gerard 
sharply, and his face flushed; “ this is my mother, and 
I don’t like to hear her spoken of in that way.” 

As Gerard said this he went up and put his hand on Mrs. 
Brewster’s shoulder, who, suddenly, as she received this 
token of affection, burst into a passion of tears. 

“I’m the only mother he ever had!” she sobbed. 
‘*The only one who ever loved him ! ” 

“My son, she is not your mother,” said the priest, 
solemnly. “ Your mother is Lady Gilmore, of Wrothsley, 
of whom you may have heard, and this woman was your 
nurse, and she and your real mother in your infancy 
schemed together to rob you of your just birthright.” 

“Lady Gilmore of Wrothsley!” repeated Gerard, in 
the utmost surprise. 

“Yes, you are the late Lord Gilmore’s -eldest son.” 

Gerard looked at Mrs. Brewster, who had now covered 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


m 

her face with her hands and was sobbing aloud, and then 
at Father Hayward. 

“I cannot understand it,” he said; “if this be true, 
what possible motive could Lady Gilmore have?” 

“ A vain and foolish one,” answered Father Hayward ; 
“ you were born with a personal defect — a defect of the 
spine — and your father was angry that his heir should 
bear this birthmark, and taunted your mother with it in 
his injustice. And to keep his affection, as she sup- 
posed, she hid you away and pretended to her husband 
you were dead, and your second brother, Hugh, who was 
well-formed and handsome, was brought up as the heir, 
while you were reared by Mrs. Brewster, your nurse.” 

Every word of this speech stung Gerard’s vain heart to 
the quick. His face flushed, and his hands trembled, and 
he drew himself up in mute protest against the reflection 
cast upon his form. 

“You have outgrown it, my dear,” wept Mrs. Brew- 
ster, who understood him, “ there is little or nothing the 
matter with you now.” 

“Then — is all this true?” asked Gerard slowly, after a 
moment’s pause. * ‘ Is — Lady Gilmore really my mother ? ” 

Once more Mrs. Brewster hesitated. 

“My daughter, you have virtually admitted the truth of 
my statement,” said Father Hayward. 

“If it is true, you had better say so,” said Gerard ; “and 
all I can say if it is, it was a disgraceful thing.” 

“Gerard ! It was your mother !” cried Mrs. Brewster, 
unable to bear this reproach, and starting to her feet. 
“I did not want to do it — I prayed and begged her not. 
Yes, it is true,” she went on passionately, flinging herself 
on her knees before him, and seizing one of his hands. 
“You were a weak and sickly babe, and my lord was 
angry because the younger boy was strong, and he was 
hard and cruel about it to my lady, and they had a bitter 
quarrel, and my lady took you and me away with her to 
the house in London, and when we were there, she per- 
suaded me to help her to deceive my lord, and tell him 
you had died of fever ! ” 

“ It was disgraceful ! ” cried Gerard roughly, trying to 
pull away his hand, but the poor woman clung to it. 

“ I have nursed you and watched over you for twenty- 
five years,” she wept. “But for me you would never 
have been what you are njw — strong and well — Oh, for- 
give me, Gerard ! ” 


140 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


He had a kind, if a vain, heart, and after a moment’s 
hesitation he put his other hand on her gray head. 

“ Well, it can’t be helped now,” he said. “ Come, get 
up. I don’t like to see you kneeling there.” 

“Then will you forgive me? ” she asked humbly. 

“It seems to me that my other mother, not you, was 
the one to blame. But why has she changed her mind, 
sir?” he added, turning round to Father Hayward, after 
he had raised Mrs. Brewster up. “Why does she want 
to acknowledge me now if she was ashamed of me before, 
though I don’t see that she had any reason, certainly.” 

“ My son, great grief and trouble has come to her,” 
answered the good Father; “the son she preferred before 
you, and of whom she made an earthly idol, after leading 
a discreditable life, married against her will, and when 
she learnt this it seemed to her that the very hand of God 
had been stretched out to punish her for the wrong she 
had done you. She was stricken with paralysis and lay 
speechless many days, and she asked me to pray that her 
tongue might be loosed, and after a while, by God’s 
grace, her speech was restored to her, and the first use 
she made of it was to confess her grievous fault.” 

“And — my father ? ” asked Gerard not unmoved. 

“Lord Gilmore has been dead four years, and at his 
death your brother Hugh assumed the title, and now 
bears it. But it is justly yours — you are now Lord Gil- 
more.” 

It is almost impossible to describe the mingled feelings 
with which the young man heard these words. He grew 
excited, his face flushed, and his heart beat fast. The 
change was so sudden, so great, and so unexpected, that 
he seemed scarcely able to realize it. 

“And the other fellow,” he said, at length, “how will 
he like it ? ” 

The good father could scarcely restrain the smile which 
stole over his grave features at this naive remark. 

“ Your brother, I trust, will see the justice and propriety 
of giving up a position which should never have been his 
without protest. At all events without dragging your 
mother’s name into a law court. But should he resist 
your claim, it will be your plain duty, and Lady Gilmore’s 
duty also, to uphold it.” 

Again Gerard was silent ; he stood there moving him- 
self uneasily ; thinking thoughts that had not yet had time 
to shape themseves into full reality. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


141 

“It only now rests with me/’ continued Father Hay- 
ward, “to give to you the letter which your mother, 
Lady Gilmore, entrusted to my care. This is it, my son, 
and I pray by God’s blessing it will be the first link to 
unite your heart to hers, after your long severance.” 

Gerard took the letter that the priest held to him in his 
trembling hand. 

“ Perhaps you would rather read it alone,” said the 
Father, considerately, who noticed how agitated the 
young man before him really was, and Gerard eagerly 
availed himself of this proposal, and at once quitted the 
room. 

He went up the somewhat narrow, though well-carpeted 
staircase of the farmhouse with hasty steps, and when he 
reached the first landing hurried to his own bedroom, 
which was situated in the front of the dwelling. And 
when he got there he first shut the door, and then tore 
open the letter he had received from the Father, which was 
sealed, the wax being stamped with the armorial bearings 
of the House of Gilmore. It was headed inside “To my 
eldest son, Gerard,” and the text ran thus : — 

“ My son, ere you read this the good father will have 
told you who you really are, and how I, in my sin and 
folly, strove to deprive you of your just birthright. But 
God Himself put out His hand to punish me, and I 
have fallen prostrate before His will. You were born, my 
poor son, with another birthright as well as your father’s 
name, and a bitter, bitter one it seemed to me. Your 
father was cruel and unjust to me because you were not 
straight and shapely like himself and the other son, for 
whose sake I wronged you. Gerard, this other son, 
whom I have loved too well, too well, has been made the 
whip wherewith to scourge me. I will not write of him 
here ; it is enough to tell you that his conduct has made 
me see mine in its true light, and I bow my head to bear 
the punishment which is my due. Do not blame the only 
mother you have ever known — Nurse Brewster — for this 
good woman did not wish to aid me in the deception 
which we practised on your father, until I over-persuaded 
her to do so, and no mother could have reared you with 
greater tenderness and care than she has done. She tells 
me you have grown strong and well, and you must not 
forget you owe this to her, I have written to her, and 


142 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR, 


she will no doubt fully confirm the truth of my words. 
And now, my son, there but remains for me to ask your 
forgiveness, and to implore you to come to me, so that I 
may bless you before I die. And do not think that only 
when I learnt your brother’s unworthiness that my con- 
science stung me ! God is my witness how for years and 
years I tried to stifle its dumb voice, yet it ever pursued 
me. Now — stricken as I am — I see things more clearly ; 
see how vainly we strive to follow our own weak plans, 
if they are opposed to the Almighty’s. I will write no 
more, but remain your sorrowing, affectionate mother, 

“Dorothy Gilmore.” 

“ P.S. — In Father Hayward, the bearer of this, you can 
safely confide all your present and future arrangements. 
He is a most worthy and excellent man, and a pious and 
devoted priest of our Holy Church. 

“D. G.” 

Gerard read this long letter to the end with the most 
strange and varying emotions throbbing in his heart, but 
his first action after doing so told that personal vanity 
was one of the strongest feelings of his being. 

He went, in fact, up to the looking-glass, and stood try- 
ing to see the effect of his own figure at the back. There 
were no cheval glasses at Cragside farmhouse, nor even 
hand glasses. Mrs. Brewster, indeed, with rare tact for 
one of her station, had always tried to hide from the son 
of her love the fact of his bodily deformity as much as 
possible, and Gerard was proud of his handsome face, and 
extremely angry if any allusion was ever made before him 
about his figure. True, rude boys at 'school had some- 
times called him “humpbacked,” and rough lads in the 
village, who were jealous of his money and fine clothing 
had sometimes jibed at him, but mostly in his absence, 
for Gerard, who was brave and strong in spite of his mis- 
fortune, had turned round on one unmannerly young, 
knave and knocked him down for some unseemly words. 
After this, people did not care much to interfere with 
Gerard Brewster (as he was called), and as Gerard was 
generous and even lavish with his money, for anyone 
with his characteristic — in village and city alike — there 
are always flatterers to be found. 

But his mother’s letter, and Father Hayward’s words, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


143 

had brought his bitter birthright most vividly and pain- 
fully before him. They made him realize for the first time 
that he must be shaped differently to his ordinary fellow- 
men, and the idea was very galling to his heart. Still as 
he stood gazing at himself anxiously, he saw nothing to 
be very much dissatisfied with. His well made brown 
velveteen coat and waistcoat were fitted so as to greatly 
disguise, in front, at least, that there was anything the 
matter with him ; and he saw, too, the finely cut features, 
the bright hazel eyes, and the thick brown moustache and 
hair. 

“I have nearly outgrown it, I suppose,” he thought 
presently ; and then his mind turned to the great change 
of fortune which had come to him ; to the new life of 
wealth and pleasure lying glittering before his half-bewil- 
dered gaze ! 

By-and-bye, however, he remembered the good Father, 
and returned to the sitting room for the purpose of seeing 
after his comforts. He found Father Hayward alone, for 
Mrs. Brewster had retired to indulge her bitter grief at the 
prospect of losing her adopted son. 

“You will stay and dine with us, sir, will you not? ” 
said Gerard, and the father consented, and during the com- 
fortable and well-cooked meal which followed, the priest 
was quietly endeavoring to read the character of the 
young man whose future had now become of such impor- 
tance in his eyes. 

Gerard talked pleasantly and well, but the subject of his 
inheritance was not, of course, mentioned before the wait- 
ing-maid. Mrs. Brewster had declined to appear, in truth 
was too much overcome to do so, but the good Father 
marked with satisfaction that Gerard did not forget her. 
He sent her up some soup, and poured out a glass of wine 
for her ; and altogether showed both kindness and con- 
sideration for the woman whom he had so long regarded as 
his mother. After dinner was over, the two men went out 
together, and Father Hayward then urged Gerard to re- 
turn with him to Wrothsley. 

“Lady Gilmore wishes you to do so,” he said ; “and 
your new position cannot be too soon established. When 
could you leave here? ” 

Gerard hesitated. 

“There are a good many things that will have to be 
settled, you know,” he said. 


144 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


“ But an agent can do all this ; money now can be no 
object with you, for your father, Lord Gilmore, died a 
very wealthy man. 

“Still ” 

“ Can you go to-morrow ? ” asked the priest. 

“To-morrow?” echoed Gerard, and his face flushed, 
and his heart beat tumultuously. To leave here to-morrow 
— to go from all the old scenes — from everyone ! Gerard 
was thinking at this moment of the blue-eyed girl he had 
walked with in the morning, and on many dewy eves, on 
the “ribbed sea-shore.” He was thinking of May Sum- 
ners, his sweetheart, and feeling that to part with her 
thus suddenly would be very painful. 

But he naturally said nothing of this to Father Hayward 
as the two walked on together along the narrow pathway 
on the cliffs, above the wide, rolling waters of the north- 
ern sea. They were strange companions ! The priest 
thoughtful, erudite, mused of many things even while he 
questioned the young man by his side of his former life, 
and doubtless hoped to direct and guide his coming days. 
But Gerard was not by nature inclined to be a docile 
pupil. He was “ a bit of a free-thinker,” as he himself ex- 
expressed it, and though he answered the father civilly and 
pleasantly, he was by no means as confidential with him as 
he might have been. He was very glad, therefore, when 
Father Hayward proposed to return to the village, and 
mentioned that he would seek a night’s lodging at the 
village inn. Gerard had been afraid that he would be 
forced to ask him to stay at the farmhouse, and he by no 
means relished the idea of a whole evening spent in the 
good Father’s company. He therefore turned with alac- 
rity, and escorted Father Hayward to the inn, and parted 
with him at the door, without, however, committing him- 
self to any absolute promise to start for Wrothsley on the 
morrow. 

“I shall see,” he said smilingly, and as the priest en- 
tered the inn door it passed through his mind how, though 
educated and brought up so differently, there was still 
about this young man some of the characteristics of his 
parents. 

“ He is a little self-willed, I fear,” he thought, “ but by 
the laws of heredity he was sure to be.” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


*45 


CHAPTER XX. 

GERARDS SWEETHEART. 

Gerard went straight, after he had parted with Father 
Hayward, to a small newly-built house which stood at 
one end of the village, and which belonged to a man who 
had contrived to make and save money, though originally 
he had only been a fisherman. 

How John Sumners’ luck had turned no one but him- 
self exactly knew. There were various reports about it in 
the village, some believing that a mysterious “find” out 
of the deep sea had been the commencement of it, but 
whatever it had been, John, who was a man of few words, 
never divulged. 

But the facts remained the same ; he ceased to be a 
fisherman, and took to boat-building and boat-selling, 
and his cobles and smacks commanded good prices, for 
they were known to be stout and strong, and fit to 
weather the stiffest gale. He was hard-working and 
prudent withal, and as he was a widower with only one 
child his expenses were not great, and he contrived to 
give his daughter a fair education, and May Sumners 
- — her name was really Mary — was considered the prettiest 
girl in Scarley, and might have had many wooers if she 
had condescended to smile on the young men of the class 
of life from which her father had originally sprung. 

But her education had made her feel superior to them, 
and when Gerard Brewster tookCragside Farm, and came 
occasionally courting to John Sumners’ house, May told 
herself, that, in spite of his bodily deformity she liked him 
better than the stalwart, brown-skinned young fishermen, 
who seemed coarse and unmannerly now to her dainty 
blue eyes. Gerard’s handsome face and generous hand 
also pleased her woman’s fancy, and it was understood in 
the village that these two were lovers, though they were 
not actually engaged to be married to each other when 
Father Hayward first met them by the rustic stile. 

Gerard, therefore, having arrived at the newly-built house, 
on one side of which was the building-yard where lay 
various unfinished boats, while in front a small neatly- 


14 6 a bitter birthright or , 

kept garden showed that the place was well cared for ; 
May Sumners being a famous little housekeeper who looked 
well after her father’s comforts. She was flitting about 
the kitchen now, preparing the old man's tea, when she 
caught sight of Gerard in the garden, who also seeing her 
went smilingly up to the window on the outside. May, 
inside, smiled too, and put her finger to her rosy lips to 
indicate silence, and pointed to her father sleeping by the 
fire in his great arm-chair. 

Alined, solemn face had John Sumner, as many of those 
have who toil on the great waters, and live face to face 
with the dangers and wonders of the deep. He looked 
rugged, but kindly, with his gray hair hanging round his 
brown features, and his strong hands resting on his knees. 
He had blue eyes, like his daughter, and these would ever 
soften strangely as they rested on her fair young face. 
He was in truth proud of his girl, and grudged her noth- 
ing, and May was fond of her old father, and did her best 
to cheer his life. 

Still smiling, she now came to the door of the house to 
speak to Gerard, who went eagerly forward and took her 
hand. 

“I want to see you, May,” he said in a low tone ; “can 
you come out for a walk ? ” 

“Not now,” she answered, speaking softly ; “It's just 
father’s tea time, though he’s fallen asleep there, poor man, 
by the fire, for he had a hard day yesterday.” 

‘ ‘ When can you come, then ? ” went on Gerard. ‘ ‘ Some- 
thing wonderful has happened, and I want to tell you 
about it.” 

“Something wonderful?” repeated May, lifting her 
blue eyes to her lover’s face. 

She was really a pretty girl, fair and pink-cheeked, with 
bright light hair, and small delicate features, and so 
Gerard thought as he stood there looking at her in the 
clear light of the spring-time day. 

“Yes,” he answered, excitedly “as good as a fairy 
tale, and I am dying to tell you all about it, May.” 

“I can get out later,” said May, whose curiosity was 
naturally roused ; “I can go down to the sands about 
eight, Gerard, if you will meet me there ? ” 

“ All right ; be sure you come ; I’ll be by the big rock 
where we sat yesterday, exactly at a quarter to eight ; so 
be a dear girl and don’t keep me waiting. ” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


147 

They settled it thus, and Gerard, after holding her hand 
a few moments longer than necessary, left the garden, 
and returned to the farmhouse, where he found Mrs. 
Brewster, standing at the front door looking out anxious- 
ly for him. 

She went forward to meet him half-timidly. 

“ Oh, Gerard/’ she said, and then paused as if afraid to 
say more. 

“Well, all this is a wonderful affair, isn’t it ? *’ he re- 
plied, looking at her and smiling, for he was in truth very 
fond of this only mother he had ever known, and from 
whose hands he had always received the greatest kind- 
ness. 

“It’s more than wonderful,” she answered, solemnly. 
“ I thought nothing in heaven or earth would have forced 
the secret from my lady’s lips. She made me swear on 
the crucifix I would never reveal it ; never on my death- 
bed : never to a living soul ! ” 

“But it's all true, I suppose?” asked Gerard, a little 
anxiously. 

“All true. .My lady cared more for my lord's love 
than for her first-born ; and she gave you to me, Gerard, 
and now she is taking you away.” 

Tears rushed into the poor woman’s eyes as she said 
this, and rolled down her wrinkled cheeks, and Gerard 
put his hand kindly upon her shoulder. 

“She won’t do that,” he said, “it was a disgraceful 
thing to do, but she was to blame and not you, and I 
won’t forget that I owe my life, I daresay, to your kind- 
ness.” 

“You were very frail and feeble then, dear,” answered 
Mrs. Brewster humbly, “and many and many a time I 
thought I should never rear you, and now when you’re 
grown so well and strong ” 

“ Except this cursed birthright they are always talking 
about,” interrupted Gerard, bitterly, as Mrs. Brewster 
paused to wipe away her fast falling tears. 

“Oh, that is nothing now, dear; my lady will see it 
is nothing now, and Gerard you are your father’s living 
image. My lord was the handsomest man I ever saw, 
and when I look at your face I can just believe he is stand- 
ing again before me.” 

These words soothed Gerard’s vain heart, and he began 
to tell Mrs, Brewster about Father Hayward’s advice, 


148 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


“ He’s a sly old fox that,” he said with a laugh, “and 
I can see he wants to lead me by the nose, but I won’t 
be so easily led, perhaps, as he thinks. But still, of course 
I should have my rights, and I mean to have them too if 
I can get them ; so you must mind, stand by me and keep 
to the same story, old woman.” 

Again he put his hand on her shoulder, and Mrs. Brew- 
ster bent down her head and kissed it. 

“Don’t fear for me, my dear,” she said, “I would die 
for you ; and now I’ve got only to speak the truth, and 
no one can disprove what I say.” 

“And this lady — for, hang it ! I can’t call her mother 
— used to send you money, I suppose? ” 

“Yes, dear; for four-and-twenty years she sent me 
regularly three hundred a year to bring you up on, and 
when we took this place she advanced the money to stock 
the farm. ” 

“And you can prove this ? asked Gerard, sharply. 

“Yes, Gerard ; and my lady tells me in the letter that 
his reverence brought me to-day, that she has kept most 
of my letters, for I wrote to her twice a year always, and 
sometimes more, to tell her how you were getting on.” 

Gerard took off his soft felt cap and waved it triumph- 
antly in the air on hearing this. 

“ It’s all right then,” he said ; “ and this other fine gen- 
tleman brother of mine will have to come down in the 
world a peg or two when I go up. But now come in, old 
woman, and give me some tea.” . 

He grew more excited during this meal, and boasted 
not a little what he would do when he came into his own 
wealth ; and Mrs. Brewster sat and listened with a heavy 
heart, for she knew that he must now leave her, and that 
her adopted son had virtually passed away from her. 

And she feared, too, for Gerard. He had not been 
reared to occupy the position he would now be called 
upon to fill, and she felt that he was unfitted for it. He 
had had a fair education, certainly, but his life at the 
farm and in the village had naturally not been a very ele- 
vated one, and then what about May Sumners, the poor 
woman thought, looking at Gerard with anxious eyes. 

Presently he rose and went out to smoke, and loitered 
about the place until the time came when he was to meet 
May. Then Mrs. Brewster saw him pluck a flower in 
the garden and heard him go up to his o\yn bedroom, and 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


149 

when he came down again the flower was in his coat, 
and he stood and looked at himself for a moment or two 
in the glass in the hall before he went forth. 

“He is going to meet that girl/’ she thought with a 
moan ; “ whatever will my lady say? ” 

Gerard in the meanwhile was proceeding leisurely to- 
wards the shore, cutting at the long grass that grew in the 
hedgerows as he went. The night was serene and beau- 
tiful, but he looked not at sky nor sea. He could not help 
thinking what a great man he was now, or would be, and 
meeting a young fisherman whom he knew, nodded to 
him so condescendingly that the fellow turned round and 
scowled at him after he had passed. But Gerard, happily 
unconscious of this, went on his way, and soon found 
himself on the sands, and when he reached the ridge of 
brown, sea-worn rocks where he expected to meet May, 
to his surprise he found the girl already seated there. 

She rose with a smile, and held out her hand. 

“ I am here first, you see,” she said playfully. 

“ But I’m not late,” answered Gerard, pulling out his 
watch ; “it wants a quarter to eight yet, Miss May !” 

The girl laughed. 

“ I know it does,” she said ; “ but it is such a fine night 
that I came early — and, besides, I want to hear this won- 
derful story, you know.” 

“Well, it is wonderful. Let me sit here beside you, 
and Til tell you. ” 

“ Is it good or bad news? ” asked May, as the young 
man seated himself by her side. 

He did not speak for a moment ; then he bent forward 
and took her hand. 

“ Would you call it bad if it took me away from you ? ” 
he asked. 

In a moment her pretty, girlish face flushed, and her 
breath fluttered. 

“ Took you away ? ” she repeated. “ I — I do not under- 
stand.” 

“ Well, May, that priest you saw me meet this morning, 
brought strange news. It seems that the good woman up 
at the farm yonder, whom I always thought was my 
mother, is not really my mother, but my nurse. My real 
mother is a great lady, and she has sent for me now to 
return to her.” 

A little cry broke from May’s parted lips, and her 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


150 

color faded as suddenly as it flushed, and a look of fear 
stole into her blue eyes, which were now fixed on Gerard’s 
face. 

“ My mother,” went on Gerard, with a ring of half-sup- 
pressed pride in his voice, “ is Lady Gilmore, the widow 
of the late Lord Gilmore, and I am their eldest son.” 

“ What ! ” cried May, with an absolute start. 

“ They say every word of it is true ; the priest says so, 
and my mother has written to me to tell me it is so, and 
the old woman at the farm — but I’m sorry for her — has 
confessed the whole story.” 

‘ ‘ But — but what motive had they, Gerard ? ” now asked 
May in a startled voice. 

Gerard’s face fell at this direct question. 

“ A very queer one it seems,” he answered ; ‘ * my father 
and mother had another son, a year younger than I am, 
and this boy when We were babies was stout and strong, 
and I was weak and puny, and my father very amiably 
often wished I was dead to make way for the other one. 
And my mother, absolutely thinking it would please him, 
took me away with Nurse Brewster, and they schemed 
together, and pretended to my father that I had died of 
fever, but really Nurse Brewster reared me up, and called 
me her son — and here I am ! ” 

Gerard gave rather a forced laugh, as he concluded his 
story, but it was not echoed by May. She turned away 
her head, and her bosom heaved strangely, and Gerard 
bending forward saw that tears had gathered unbidden in 
her eyes. 

“ Why should this vex you, May?” he said tenderly, 
putting his arm round her waist, and drawing her closer 
to him, “ it won’t make any difference between us, you 
know.” 

“ Yes,” said the girl, with a little sob. 

“No, indeedit won’t!” continued Gerard earnestly; 
“ They chose to bring me up out of my station, and I’ve 
chosen a girl they may call out of my station, but if you 
care for me really, dear May, no one shall part us.” 

‘ ‘ Yes, they will part us,” said May, in great distress, 
and her head fell on his breast, but Gerard only drew her 
closer, and bent down, and again and again kissed her 
sweet face. 

“ It will part us for a week or two perhaps,” he said, 
“ until every thing is settled, but if they expect to lead me 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPTA 7Y0M 1 5 r 

they are mistaken. Promise me, May, to keep true to me, 
and I will promise faithfully to be true to you?” 

Then May lifted up her head and promised, and thus 
these two plighted their troth on the lonely shore ; but 
somehow, as the sea moan fell on her ears, May Sumners 
shuddered as she listened to its weird and mystic tongue. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE STRANGER SON. 

The next morning about half-past nine o’clock just as 
Gerard for the first time that day went to the farmhouse 
door, and stood for a moment or two on the threshold, 
with his hands in his pockets, thinking of the future which 
now lay before him, he suddenly perceived the tall, even 
stately form, of Father Hayward approaching him. 

He went down the garden walk to meet him and opened 
the gate with a smile. 

“ I am an early visitor you see,” said the priest holding 
out his hand ; “but I have had a letter from Lady Gilmore 
this morning ; a letter I wish you to see.” 

Gerard’s face naturally flushed a little at this announce- 
ment. 

“She is most anxious,” went on Father Hayward, “that 
you should start for Wrothsley to-day, for she was not 
feeling so well yesterday, and dreads that a second attack 
of paralysis might seize her, and again deprive her of 
speech. You see how important it is that you should go 
at once ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Gerard casting down his eyes. 

“ Can you arrange to start with me in an hour, then ? ” 

“No, I'm sure I can’t,” answered Gerard decisively; 
“ I could leave here in the afternoon, perhaps.” 

“But then we could not reach Wrothsley to-day, which I 
am most anxious that you should do. Nothing can be of 
so much consequence as that you should see your mother 
without delay, so let me urge you to put every other con- 
sideration aside.” 

But Gerard still hesitated ; he would see May Sumners 
before he went, he was determined : but finally Father 
Hayward persuaded him to promise to start for the south 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, \ OR , 


152 

at mid-day, and Gerard had thus no time to lose. He 
went into the house with the priest, who wished to see 
Mrs. Brewster, and he told this poor woman, who was 
very sad at the prospect of losing her adopted son, that 
she had to pack his portmanteau for him : and then he 
hurried to the village to seek May, whom he found at 
home very busy, with some household work in the kitchen. 
Her sleeves were tucked up, and she had a large bibbed 
apron on, and when she heard Gerard’s rap at the house 
door, she went just as she was to open it, as she by no 
means expected him at this early hour. 

With a blush and a start she recognized him. She had 
spent a very sleepless night, thinking of the great change 
of fortune which had come to Gerard, and which now, 
through him, was reflected on her own life. It seemed 
like a dream to her still, and yet as he stood there bef6re 
her, it all flashed back to her mind, and also the incongruity 
of her present dress and occupation to her future state. 

“Gerard,” she said, trying nervously to pull down her 
sleeves over her round soft arms, “I — I did not expect 
you so early.” 

“May I come in ?” he answered. “Is the old man in 
the house, May ? ” 

“No, he is in the work-yard. 

By this time poor May had got down her sleeves, and 
was proceeding to untie her apron in the passage, when 
Gerard took her in his arms and kissed her affectionately. 

“ Oh ! don’t, Gerard — I feel so ashamed to be so untidy ! ” 
she exclaimed. 

“Never mind about being untidy; you are always 
pretty in my eyes you know, and always will be. There 
darling, let me have another kiss, and now come into the 
kitchen. ” 

“ Had we better not go into the parlor?” she said 
hesitatingly. 

“ Nonsense, ” replied Gerard smiling, for he had gener- 
ally been in the habit of talking to May in the kitchen, 
and understood why she wished him to go into the parlor 
now, “the kitchen will do very well — for I’ve come on a 
sad business, May — I have come to say good-bye.” 

The girl’s face quickly grew a little pale. 

“Not to-day?” she asked in a low tone. 

“Unfortunately to-day ; that priest won’t let me alone ; 
it seems my mother, Lady Gilmore, is most anxious to see 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


153 

me at once, as she is afraid of taking another fit, and so 
Father Hayward got a letter from her this morning to 
urge him to take me to Wrothsley Castle to-day, and 
though I tried hard to get another day or so here, the old 
boy would not hear of it, and we start at twelve o'clock.” 

. “Oh, Gerard ! ” 

“Now, May darling, you’ve not to look sad about it,” 
continued Gerard, again putting his arm round her slim 
waist; “you know what I promised you last night, and I 
mean to keep to my word, and nothing shall turn me from 
it. But don’t you see it’s of great consequence that I should 
see the old lady at once, if there is any chance of her 
being ill again, for of course that precious younger brother 
of mine is sure to make a fight for the property and the 
title, and that kind of thing. So I thought it was best to 
go to-day, as the priest urged it, and I’ve just run down to 
say a word to you, and to tell you how awfully cut up I 
feel at the idea of parting with you even fora short time.” 

“ And you won’t change ? ” she answered taking his hand 
and looking wistfully up with her blue eyes into his face. 

“ I swear I won’t.” 

“But as you are rich and have a grand name, fine ladies 
will be running after you, Gerard, and then maybe you’ll 
forget your poor little girl by the sea.” 

“The fine ladies may run, but they won’t catch me,” 
laughed Gerard. “Now May, give me a bit of your pretty 
hair to take away with me,” and he caressingly laid his 
hand on her hair as he spoke, “ and then if the fine 
ladies you mention want to make love to me, I’ll show 
them the little curl I carry about with me, and tell them I 
cut it from my pretty sweetheart’s head.” 

“ And will you give me a bit of yours ? ” she asked softly. 

“ Of course,” answered Gerard, “ but I must cut it 
with discretion,” he added smiling. “As I am going into 
such grand company I mustn’t spoil my beauty, so have 
you a looking-glass here, May? ” 

She went to one of the shelves on the kitchen wall, and 
took down a small square hand-glass and held it up to 
Gerard, who then carefully selected a little piece of his 
bright, crisp, curling brown hair. 

“I think this won’t be missed,” he said, as he rather 
regretfully cutoff the love-lock, “and now, darling, let me 
have a piece of this pretty stuff.” 

And May was not afraid of injuring her hair, and so let 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, \ OR , 


154 

Gerard take as much as he wished. Her heart indeed 
felt too sad at the thought of Gerard going away from her 
to care for anything else, and when he took her in his 
arms to bid her good-bye it was all she could do to restrain 
her tears. 

“ You will write? ” she whispered with her head on hjs 
breast. 

“ I will write to-morrow,” he answered, “ and tell you 
all about how I get on. I don’t mean to be brow-beaten 
you know by any of these fine people, and that I’ll soon 
let them see. But now, May darling, I must go — you love 
me truly and really don’t you, May ? ” 

“Oh yes, yes, Gerard.” 

“ And you loved me before all this camel know ; you 
loved me, didn’t you, when I was only plain Gerard 
Brewster, or at least imagined myself to be ?” 

“ You know I did,” whispered the girl. 

They parted in the tenderest fashion, and again and 
again renewed their promises of faith to each other, and 
then — slowly, reluctantly — Gerard left her, carrying away 
the memory of her sweet face in his heart. 

He found on his return to the farmhouse that Father 
Hayward had not been idle in his absence. Mrs. Brew- 
ster had, in fact, signed a deposition which he had drawn 
out, fully confirming Lady Gilmore’s confession regarding 
Gerard’s birth and supposed death in every particular. 
Poor Mrs. Brewster was in great grief, but she had obeyed 
Gerard’s request, and his portmanteau was packed and 
ready ; but she fairly broke down when the moment of 
parting came, and sobbed aloud when Gerard bent down 
to kiss her. 

“ Nonsense,” he said, kindly, “ don’t go on like that ; 
I’ll be back here very soon, I can tell you.” 

But Mrs. Brewster knew the world better than he did. 

“No, my dear,” she wept, “you’re going into a new 
life, and it’s but natural you should forget the old one.” 

“ I’m sure he will not forget his kind nurse who has 
tended him all these years,” said Father Hayward; “and 
in all probability also, Mrs. Brewster, you will be called to 
Wrothsley to substantiate Gerards claims.” 

“Of course I won’t forget you,” said Gerard, once more 
shaking her hand; “good-bye, take care of yourself, 
like a good old woman, until I come back.” 

And so he parted from the woman who had nursed and 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


155 

reared him for twenty-five years. He had a smile on his 
face as he went out of the door, but Mrs. Brewster covered 
hers with her hands and wailed aloud. 

“ I thought to have him by me to close my eyes in death, ” 
she moaned; “ but now it is all over; he’s gone away 
and will never come back.” 

In the meanwhile, Gerard and the priest were walking 
on towards the village inn, from whence they drove in a 
carriage to the nearest railway station. They travelled 
by a fast train, and reached London about seven in the 
evening, and then proceeded direct to Wrothsley, arriving 
about ten o’clock. At the station at Wrothsley a carriage 
awaited them, as Father Hayward had telegraphed during 
the day to Lady Gilmore, that they were on their way. 
Gerard by this time was somewhat pale and agitated, in 
spite of all his big words to poor May Sumners. 

“You are nearing your home now,” said Father Hay- 
ward, kindly and reassuringly, as they drove on in the 
luxurious carriage through the dark lanes. Then they 
reached the West Lodge at Wrothsley and entered the 
park, and Gerard leaned his head out of the carriage win- 
dow to hide his nervousness. 

“The park is very extensive,” went on the calm voice 
of the priest, “and well stocked with deer, and the lake 
absolutely abounds in water-fowl ; by-the-bye, I forgot to 
ask you, are you a sportsman ? ” 

“ I have shot a hare or two,” answered Gerard, huskily. 

‘ ‘ Ah, that will all soon come right, you will have plenty 
of shooting here, and most young men like it.” 

Another quarter of an hour brought them to the front 
entrance of the Castle, and a few moments later Gerard 
was standing in the great hall, and as the butler, Graham, 
advanced to receive the travellers, this ordinarily calm 
man absolutely started as his eyes fell on Gerard’s face. 

“My ladv gave orders that she would receive you and 
— this gentleman at once, on your arrival,” he said, not 
in his usual even tones. Gerard’s likeness to his late lord 
had startled the butler, and there had been strange rumors 
about the Castle and the neighborhood for some days. 

“ Come, then,” said the priest, putting his arm through 
Gerard’s, and leading him gravely up the magnificent 
staircase, for Gerard was too much agitated by this time 
almost to know where he was going. He had never been 
in such a house before, and had had no idea of such wealth 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 


156 

and luxury as surrounded him on every side. His heart 
was beating fast, and his face was flushed, and his hands 
trembled, as they traversed the thickly-carpeted broad 
corridors, and reached at last the room where Lady Gil- 
more awaited them in greater agitation even than her 
stranger son. 

Father Hayward rapped softly at the door, and then led 
Gerard in ; led him up to the rich satin couch on which 
was seated a pale woman with dark, restless eyes, who 
rose with a half-cry on her pallid lips as they approached 
her. 

“ I have brought your son back to you,” said the priest, 
gently. “ Gerard, this is your mother, Lady Gilmore.” 

Then Lady Gilmore put out her quivering hand. 

“It is his father’s face — his father’s face,” she mur- 
mured, as Gerard nervously took her hand in his own 
trembling one. 

“It is a remarkable likeness, certainly,” said Father 
Hayward, as Lady Gilmore’s eyes still dwelt on the 
familiar, yet unfamiliar, features. It was like looking on 
the dead again she was thinking, for Gerard had inherited 
the late Lord Gilmore’s every lineament. 

“ Will you forgive me?” she asked after a moment or 
two of painful silence. 

“Oh, yes, its no use talking of it now,” answered 
Gerard; and as Lady Gilmore heard his voice, she started 
back a little and dropped his hand from her cold stiff 
fingers. 

This was not the voice nor accent of her husband, nor 
yet of that beloved son who had stabbed his mother’s 
heart. Lady Gilmore had forgotten that a youth reared 
in a remote village on the Northern coast had had no 
chance of speaking like a well-bred man, when his only 
companions had been the fishermen, or at best a young 
farmer or two, or the son of the keeper of the village inn. 
Gerard, in fact, spoke with a strong North-country accent, 
though his voice was not an unpleasant one, but now it 
grated harshly on his mother’s ears. And as she dropped 
his hand he turned away from her, and as he did this her 
eyes fell on the defect in his figure, on the bitter birth- 
right which had made him an alien and a stranger to his 
father’s house. 

A sort of a moan escaped Lady Gilmore’s lips, and 
she covered her face with her hand. Was she thinkimg 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION, \ 


*57 


of the tall, slender, graceful form of that other son, and 
of her own sin to both ? Some strong emotion was surg- 
ing in her breast, for her lips quivered convulsively, 
and Gerard saw her hands twitch, and he began to feel 
sorry for her. 

“ Don’t vex yourself any more about it now,” he said, 
still in that deep, rough tone; “ what’s done cannot be 
undone, you know, and we must just try to make the 
best of it,” and Gerard smiled. 

It was her husband’s very smile. It lit Gerard’s face, 
and carried the thoughts of the pale woman, who was 
watching him, back to her early wedded days ; to the 
passionate and devoted love she had given to her hand- 
some lord; to a thousand tender memories and joys. 

“The wrong to you must be undone,” she said in a 
low tone; “did you bring Nurse Brewster with you?” 

“No,” said Father Hayward, “but I brought with me 
her deposition, confirming in every particular your state- 
ment.” 

“ But that is not enough!” exclaimed Lady Gilmore 
excitedly. “Nurse Brewster must come here and de- 
clare before the whole household, before my other son, 
before their great-aunt, the wrong we did. This is Lord 
Gilmore and everyone must know it ! ” 

“I can telegraph for Mrs. Brewster to-morrow,” an- 
swered Father Hayward soothingly; “but would it not 
be wise now to end this interview? “ Tis not good 
for you, so much excitement, and my young friend here, 

I am sure, is greatly in need of some refreshment : ” and 
the good father kindly laid his hand on Gerard’s shoulder. 

“Come to me, then, Gerard,” said Lady Gilmore, again 
stretching out her hand, which he took, “ my son, whom 
I have wronged so deeply, stoop down that I may kiss 
your face.” 

And Gerard bent down, and she kissed him with her 
quivering lips. 

“ God has spared me to atone to you,” she said sol- 
emnly, “say again you forgive me?” 

“Yes, indeed I do,” answered Gerard heartily, for he 
was touched by his mother’s words ; and again Lady 
Gilmore kissed him ; kissed the face she had last 
touched when he was a little babe, 


i5« 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, \ OR, 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE NEW LORD. 

Gerard awoke next morning- with a confused sense of 
not knowing where he was ; awoke and looked around 
him, and saw, instead of the neat, homely furniture *at 
Cragside Farmhouse, a room, the fittings of which 
were extremely luxurious. Lady Gilmore had given 
orders that her son was to occupy one of the state bed- 
rooms of the Castle, and thither the night before, 
Graham the butler had escorted him. Graham knew by 
this time who Gerard really was, and had lost no time 
in courting the rising sun. 

Scarcely indeed had Gerard and Father Hayward 
retired from her presence, when Lady Gilmore summoned 
this old family servant to her side. Graham had been 
in the Castle at the time when the small empty coffin 
supposed to contain the little dead heir, had been 
interred in the family vault, and he had heard rumors 
also that this had lately been opened in the presence of a 
magistrate, Father Hayward, and a London lawyer. 
There had been naturally much gossip among the ser- 
vants on the subject, but until Gerard arrived, Lady Gil- 
more had not spoken of it to any of them. 

Now, however, she broke the silence. 

“Graham/’ she said, addressing him, “you saw the 
gentleman who arrived with Father Hayward to-night; 
of whom does his face remind you ? ” 

Graham hesitated for a moment. 

“I scarcely like to say, my lady,” he said; “but if I 
may take the liberty of doing so, he had a look, I thought, 
of his late lordship.” 

“ He may well have, for he is his son — his eldest son,” 
answered Lady Gilmore with emotion ; “ when he was a 
babe — a weak and puny babe — it was given out that he 
had died of fever, and a little coffin was brought here, 
and placed by his grandfather’s side in the family vault 
in the chapel; you remember this? ” 

“ I remember the melancholy occasion perfectly, my 
lady.” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


*59 

“ That coffin was an empty one ; I deceived his father 
and pretended he had died, because my lord ardently 
wished his other son to be the heir, as this poor child 
was a hunchback. But he did not die, and has been 
reared by Nurse Brewster, and now he has come home 
— I have acknowledged him — he is in truth Lord Gilmore, 
and not ” 

Her voice broke and faltered as she alluded again to 
“ the other son,” and Graham bowed respectfully as he 
listened. 

“ It is very strange, my lady,” he said, “but you could 
have knocked me over with a feather the moment my 
eyes fell on his face to-night, the likeness to his late lord- 
ship is so strong. Am I to understand, my lady, that 
we have now to address him as Lord Gilmore ? ” 

“Certainly, as Lord Gilmore ; I have called you here 
to tell you this, and I request you to make it known in the 
household. Steps will be taken immediately to have his 
title acknowledged, for none can dispute it. Nurse Brews- 
ter will be here to morrow, and then, everyone shall 
know. ” 

Again Graham bowed. 

“ I trust you will forgive an old family servant express- 
ing a hope, my lady,” he said, “that the young Lord 
will be a great comfort and happiness to you, and be as 
like his late lordship in everything as he is in face.” 

Thus Graham knew when he waited on Gerard at the 
first meal he partook of at Wrothsley„that he was waiting 
on his future lord, and when he escorted Gerard to his 
bed room, he addressed him by his title. 

“My lady informed me after your arrival, my lord,” 
he said, “ that you are the rightful heir; and as I have 
been in the family for twenty-seven years, I hope you’ll 
excuse me mentioning that I never saw such likeness in 
my life as you are to his late lordship, your father,” 

“Everyone tells me that,” said Gerard, well pleased. 

“ He was an uncommon handsome man,” went on the 
butler, “and your lordship is his very image, far more 
like than the other gentleman — Mr. Hugh that now is.” 

“What sort of fellow is my brother?” ^sked Gerard, 
delighted with the butler’s remarks. 

“He’s a very pleasant free-handed young gentleman, 
and good looking also, but does not take after his father 
as much as you do, my lord; in fact it’s just wonderful.” 


j 6 o a BITTER BIRTHRIGHT 1 OR, 

So Gerard went to bed excited and gratified, and for a 
long time could not sleep amid his unfamiliar surround- 
ings. And when he awoke in the morning, he could not 
at first tell were he was. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and 
then it all came back to him. He was Lord Gilmore; 
all this splendor was his, and the butler had said he was 
like his handsome father, and Gerards vain heart loved 
to think .this. 

He got up and looked out of the window ; looked on the 
wide-spreading park with its green slopes and groups of 
stately trees, below which the deer browsed in the sheltered 
glades. He could see too what a great house it was with 
its marble terraces and fountains, and in the far vista a 
gleam of the shining waters of the lake. Wrothsley was 
looking beautiful in the sweet spring-time with its fresh- 
opened leaves and blossoms, beneath a blue white-flecked 
sky, and a bright shining morning sun. But its splend- 
ors half frightened Gerard. He had never been in such 
a place before, and it filled him with a vague sense of his 
own inferiority somehow. He turned away from the 
window with a half sigh, and then began to dress him- 
self in his very best. 

Poor Gerard ! The brown, country-made velveteen 
coat, the white waistcoat, and bright red necktie, might 
seem very attractive in the eyes of rustic maidens like 
May Sumners, but they looked sadly out of place beneath 
these decorated ceilings. And so Graham the butler 
thought, when he beheld his young lordship in this gay 
attire. 

‘ He ain’t fit for it,” reflected this sagacious man, '* but 
my lady has no one but herself to thank for his countri- 
fied appearance, and a good valet will soon polish him up 
a bit.” 

But we may be sure he gave no hint of his private 
thoughts to Gerard, Father Hayward started for town 
immediately after breakfast, for the purpose of seeing the 
family lawyer (who had been present when the little 
empty coffin was opened in the vault), to take his advice 
regarding Gerard assuming the title, and to consult coun- 
sel on this point, and also on the best mode of commu- 
nicating his mother’s confession and deposition to Hugh 
Gifford, now called Lord Gilmore. 

Father Hayward carried with him also the whole cor- 
respondence which had taken place during the twenty- 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPT A TIOAT. j 6 ! 

four years of Gerard’s life, between Lady Gilmore and 
Mrs. Brewster, regarding his health and rearing, and the 
money which had been expended on his behalf. Both 
Lady Gilmore and Mrs. Brewster had, strange to say, 
preserved all these letters, and Lady Gilmore held the 
receipt for the large sum of money she had advanced for 
Gerard to stock and take his farm, and which had also pass- 
ed through Mrs. Brewster’s hands. The lawyers naturally 
deemed these papers to be of the greatest importance in 
the case, supposing it went to trial, as they considered, 
that without doubt they fully .established Gerards claim 
to be the late Lord Gilmores eldest son, and confirmed 
the depositions by Lady Gilmore and Mrs. Brewster re- 
garding the deception they had practiced on the late lord. 

Thus, after Father Hayward left Wrothsley, Gerard found 
it so lonely, he was glad to have the butler to talk to, 
and Graham showed him over the great house, opening 
with no small pride the doors of the state apartments, 
pointing out in the large drawing-room the walls hung 
with light blue satin damask, worked with silver-gray 
figures, the frieze above being white and gold. There 
was everything here that wealth could purchase, the floors 
of all the principal rOoms being of oak, with wide par- 
quetrie borders, and one room was panelled with richly 
carved frames filled with splendid specimens of Aubuseen 
tapestry. 

But the great boast and pride of the house, were the 
pictures, and Graham acted as showman of these too. 

“That cad' of an old woman is a Rembrandt, my lord,” 
he went on pointing out picture after picture to Gerard’s 
astonished gaze, “and yon landscape with ’orses is a 
Gerard Dow. We have a Rubens too — very fine, that his 
late lordship, your lordship’s father, set great store on. And 
we have Holbeins, and Teniers, and in fact all the best 
of ’em. When the family is away crowds of people come 
here to see the pictures, and I believe there is no better 
collection in England. May I ask if your lordship is fond 
of h’art ? ” 

“ Don’t know much about it,” answered Gerard with a 
blush, at the idea of his own ignorance. 

“ It’s a taste that grows,” continued the butler reflect- 
ively, “ and as his late lordship was a great h’art connois- 
seur, I have no doubt your lordship will inherit it, the same 
2s you have done the features qf his face t This is a por-« 

H 


1 6 2 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR, 


trait of his late lordship, and you’ll excuse me saying so, 
but it might pass as your lordship’s picture, except being 
older.” 

So Gerard stood and looked at his father’s pictured face 
and told himself that he was indeed his son. They had 
the same features, the same bright, smiling, reckless eyes, 
and crisp brown curling hair. Only that hapless birth- 
right which had marred Gerard’s life made the difference, 
and a frown passed over his face as this thought crossed 
his mind. 

“I think I am tired of looking at the pictures,” he said 
turning away a little impatiently, and the polite butler 
instantly took the hint. 

‘ ‘ Perhaps your lordship would like a little refreshment ? ” 
he said. “ 5 Tis very fatiguing standing about.” 

“ I think I’d like a drink,” replied Gerard, and having 
expressed his preference for champagne, so as to impress 
the butler with the idea that it was a beverage he partook 
of every day, Graham made haste to put before him some 
of the very finest wine the cellars contained. 

“ That’s not bad,” said Gerard, who was quite inca- 
pable of appreciating its excellence ; and as the butler 
removed the empty bottle he could not suppress a sigh. 

“Poor fellow,” he reflected, “his ignorance is just 
h’awful.” 

The rare vintage however had raised Gerard’s spirits, 
and he felt much less afraid to encounter “ the old lady,” 
he confided to Graham under its influence, when, about 
mid-day, Lady Gilmore summoned him to her presence. 
He entered her room with a smile, and put out his hand, 
which his mother held in her poor cramped one for a few 
moments in silence. 

“ And how have you spent the morning? ” she asked 
presently, still with her dark eyes fixed on his face. 

“ Oh, very well,” answered Gerard ; “ that butler fellow 
has been showing me over the place and the pictures.” 

“ They are very fine,” said Lady Gilmore slowly, and 
as her glance wandered over his dress and general appear- 
ance she sighed deeply. She was thinking how like he 
was, and yet how unlike to her husband, and the son she 
had loved too dearly. And she saw also, only too clearly, 
that Gerard’s rearing had unfitted him for the station he 
was now called upon to hold, and her wrong to him could 
never be quite undone, 


LAD V GILMORE'S TEMPT A TIOM. 1 6 3 

“ Graham is an old family servant, and you can safely 
ask him any questions — about — how things go on here, 
you know," she said with some hesitation ; and after he 
left her, she sent for Graham. 

“ Graham," and a flush rose to her sallow face as she 
spoke, and her eyes fell before the grave butler’s ; “could 
you advise my son regarding his dress — about having a 
new tailor, I mean — you see he has been educated in the 
country, and of course — ” and she paused. 

Graham bowed respectfully. 

“ I could mention to his lordship the firm in town who 
supplies — Mr. Hugh, my lady,” he said, and Lady Gil- 
more gave a little start, and bit her lips as she heard the 
unfamiliar name. 

“ If you can do so without offence, I shall be glad,” 
she answered a moment later, and after she had dismissed 
Graham, that discreet man retired to his own apartment to 
consider how he could best undertake this delicate office. 

Gerard in the meantime was engaged in writing his 
promised letter to May Sumners, and as he did so the 
same feeling stole over him that he had felt when he had 
first looked out in the morning on the park. The splendid 
fittings of the room he was writing in seemed, somehow, 
to overwhelm his ideas, and after an attempt or two he 
flung down his pen and tore up his unfinished letter. 

“ I will write to-morrow,” he told himself, and then 
*rang the bell for Graham. 

“ I want to go out,” he said ; “ will you come with me 
to show me the way about.” 

“ Your lordship would like to see the lake perhaps,” 
answered Graham, who had now decided on his course 
of action ; “and the other scenery in the park, which is 
also considered very fine ; and I was going to ask your 
lordship if I might be allowed to act as your valet until 
you engage one ; and as it may be late before we return 
to the Castle, if you will permit me I will lay out your 
evening-dress, for dinner, before we go? ” 

Graham had rightly guessed that Gerard was almost 
sure to have no evening-dress, and the scarlet flush which 
rose to his face at these words immediately told the butler 
that his surmise was true. 

“ Evening-dress,” repeated Gerard in confusion, “ I 
have none with me, I think ; I came away in such a hurry, 
d’ye see.” 


164 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


“ They are easily supplied, my lord/’ smiled Graham ; 
“ your brother, Mr. Hugh, deals with a first-rate West End 
firm in town, and if you will allow me I can telegraph to 
them to send down one of their people to take your lord- 
ship’s measurement, for a dress suit, and anything else 
you may require? ” 

“ Perhaps that would be the best plan,” answered 
Gerard, “I suppose — they always dress here for dinner ? ” 

“ Always, my lord,” replied the butler, even with so- 
lemnity, and Gerard gave an uneasy laugh as he listened. 

“ Well, I’ll either dine as I am to-day or go without 
dinner,” he said ; “ however, write to the fellow you men- 
tioned, and then I should like to look about the place a 
bit.” 

Graham having obtained this authority wrote to the 
London firm, and requested them to send down at once 
everything that was required for a “ young gentleman’s 
outfit,” and thus Gerard’s dress at all events would no 
longer offend fastidious eyes. 

And while these arrangements for his benefit were 
going on at Wrothsley, Father Hayward had journeyed 
to town, and gone straight when he arrived there, to the 
offices of the family lawyer, who was already acquainted 
with the strange events which had taken place in the 
House of Gilmore. 

He was a shrewd, worldly man this, and considered that 
Lady Gilmore would have acted much more wisely to 
have let this folly and sin of her youth rest in silence. 
But, as she had chosen not to do this, the consequences 
were unavoidable. He received Father Hayward with 
courtesy, and listened to his account of Gerard’s arrival 
at Wrothsley with a smile. 

“ I must say I feel not a little sorry for Lord Gilmore,” 
he said; “ as I see no reason to doubt Lady Gilmore’s 
most remarkable story, and this correspondence you have 
brought apparently completely confirms it. But of course 
it will have to be thoroughly investigated, and ultimately 
go before a Committee of the House of Lords. And, 
strange to say, Lord Gilmore, without any knowledge of 
the facts whatever, has just returned to town. This is a 
letter I received from him this morning. 

Father Hayward took the letter in his hand which Mr. 
Stafford the lawyer held toward him, and, having asked 
permission, read the following words ; — 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPT A TlON. 1 6 5 

“ Dear Sir, — When in Florence a few days ago, I saw 
in an English newspaper that my mother was slowly 
recovering from a severe illness, and I therefore started 
at once for England. Will you kindly call upon me at my 
hotel here, and tell me all the particulars, which of course 
will be known to you. I suppose it is no secret that my 
mother was highly offended by my marriage, and as she 
did not answer the letter I wrote to her to announce it, I 
scarcely care to address her directly. Still I am anxious 
to hear how she is, and shall be pleased if you will call 
and see me. And I remain, dear Sir, yours faithfully, 

“ Gilmore.’’ 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE BRIDEGROOM AND THE BRIDE. 

While Father Hayward and Mr. Stafford were talking 
of him, the young man whom we have hitherto called 
Lord Gilmore, was sitting in his hotel, looking smilingly 
up in the face cf his young wife, who was standing before 
him trying to persuade him to go with her to pay her 
first visit after her return to her mother’s house. 

Nancy was looking very pretty, and was dressed in a 
gray Parisian costume, and her whole appearance was 
charming. Yet this fair bride of a few months was urg- 
ing her request in vain. 

“Oh, do go, please Gilmore,” she said, bending down 
and taking his hand ; “ mother will think it unkind if you 
do not.” 

“ My dear child;” answered her husband, still smiling, 
“ I have every respect for, and wish to please your 
mother, but Aunt Fannie is more than I can stand.” 

“Still, to please me?” pleaded Nancy. 

“Even for the sake of that luxury I have not strength 
of mind to be gushed over, perhaps even kissed by, Mrs. 
Barclay. Don’t ask me to go, Nancy, like a good little 
girl, for I really cannot.” 

“ Very well,” she replied, and she dropped his hand, 
and turned away, feeling not a little wounded and hurt.” 

At this moment, however, a servant entered the room, 
announced that the carriage was waiting for Lady Gil- 
more, and he also brought in a telegram for her lord. 


1 66 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


Gilmore — for we must yet call him so, as he still bore 
that name — opened this carelessly, and then went up to 
Nancy, and put his hand on her shoulder and held the 
open telegram towards her. 

“There, my dear/’ he said, “this is my excuse, if it 
wants one, for not accompanying you to the maternal 
mansion. This is from Mr. Stafford, the lawyer, and you 
see he says he will call here at four o’clock, and as I wish 
to see him it is impossible that I can go with you. Come, 
are you ready, and I’ll take you down to the carriage ? ” 

‘ ‘ I have some things to take with me, ” answered Nancy, 
just a little coldly. “ I will ring and tell Philips to take 
them down to the carriage.” 

“All right. I forgot the family presents,” answered 
Gilmore good-naturedly, and then he stooped down and 
kissed Nancy’s sweet face. “Don’t look cross, little 
woman,” he went on, “but that aunt of yours is really 
too much for me?” 

“Very well,” smiled Nancy, and having given her or- 
ders to her maid to carry various parcels to the carriage, 
she put her hand through her husband’s arm, and Gilmore 
escorted her to the carriage. 

He handed her in, and having given the address to the 
coachman, stood talking to her for a moment or two. 

“Give my love to Mrs. Loftus,” he said, “and don’t 
forget to be back in time for dinner. Good-bye for the 
present ; ” and then he shook hands with her, and as 
Nancy was driven away she sank back on the cushions 
of the brougham with a little sigh. 

And there was a vague feeling of disappointment in her 
heart. During the months she had passed with Gilmore ; 
months spent amid new scenes and new excitements, she 
had learnt to know his character better, and to judge it 
more clearly than she had done in the dim corridor at 
Wrothsley, or when ardent and impassioned he had wooed 
her at her mother’s house. 

Yet she had nothing to complain of, she told herself 
frankly. Gilmore had been always kind and good-na- 
tured to her, if not always considerate. But she had learned 
to know now that a certain easy selfishness pervaded 
his whole nature, and that to sacrifice an hour’s pleasure 
or convenience to anyone else’s was a thing impossible 
to him. It had been a shock and a disappointment to 
Nancy to discover this, for her girlish fancy had endowed 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPT A TIOtf. 167 

Gilmore with every noble quality, and when she had 
married him she had seen no fault in him. She had 
thought “how good and generous of him to marry a poor 
girl like me/’ and naturally did not realize the very nature 
of his love. 

It is a bitter thing to wake up from a sweet dream and 
to learn we have been living in one. The rosy lights die 
away, and cold reality creeps chilling over our hearts. 
Nancy was a clever girl, and quick to perceive, and in a 
short while she began to understand Gilmore. He had 
wearied a little, too, of his new toy, as he had wearied 
of the rest, and Nancy saw this, and so a shadow fell 
upon her young life. 

Gilmore was annoyed, too, by his mother’s silence. 
He had thought that she would at once have forgiven him 
for his marriage when she knew she could not prevent it, 
and when no answer came to his letter he was utterly 
astonished. It was at Florence that he first heard of 
her dangerous illness, and he at once returned to Eng- 
land. He wished, in fact, Lady Gilmore to receive and 
present his wife, for he had no idea of allowing Nancy 
to be much with her own people. 

Thus he refused to accompany her on her first visit to 
her mother, and Nancy felt hurt by this, and went back 
to the little house at West Hampstead with a heavier heart 
than she had left it. But when she reached the familiar 
dwelling — and how small it looked — she was smiling 
brightly, for an eager group of faces were watching at 
the windows to see her come. 

“ Here she is ! ” cried Aunt Fannie with elation, rush- 
ing into the passage to receive Nancy, and there actually, 
something almost like a struggle took place who should 
first clasp her in their arms. 

But Nancy flung hers round her mother’s neck and laid 
her soft rosy cheek against Mrs. Loftus’ pale one. 

“Dear, dear mother! ” she whispered, as Mrs. Loftus 
kissed her again and again. But Aunt Fannie was deter- 
mined to have her turn, and began violently kissing 
Nancy’s hair and ears* which were all that were at this 
moment available. 

“How well you look ! What a lovely gown ! French, 
I can see,” she cried with enthusiasm. 

“ But where is Lord Gilmore, my dear? ” 

“His lawyer telegraphed to him that he was going 


1 68 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


to call this afternoon,” replied Nancy somewhat menda- 
ciously,” so he was not able to come with me. He sent 
his love to you, mother. ’’ 

At this moment Nancy’s only brother — the schoolboy 
of twelve — ran into the house by the open street door, as 
he had been outside looking for Nancy, and immediately 
began embracing her also. 

“My! what a swell you are, Nan!” he exclaimed 
admiringly, after he had released her. He was a good- 
looking boy, with an open honest countenance, like his 
poor father, and had been summoned home for a couple 
of days especially to receive Nancy. Then Milly, the shy 
one of the family, and the baby had to be kissed in turns ; 
and finally all Nancy’s numerous parcels were brought 
out of the carriage and carried into the dining-room, and 
the pleasant task of distributing the family presents began. 

She had forgotten none of them ; Aunt Fannie was 
made happy by a costly set of gold ornaments from Rome ; 
Milly by a beautiful cut coral necklace and bracelets ; and 
baby also by a coral necklace, besides various strange 
foreign toys. For Master Bob Nancy had brought a gold 
watch, and she also slipped two sovereigns into his eager 
palm. Even the dark-skinned ayah had been remem- 
bered ; and for her mother Nancy had brought a jet locket 
richly set in diamonds containing her dear father’s por- 
trait, which she had had painted in miniature from a 
photograph she possessed. 

When these gifts had all been disposed of, the whole 
family partook of tea with the young bride, and Bob dis- 
tinguished himself by the prodigious quantity of cakes and 
muffins he devoured. Aunt Fannie became quite senti- 
4 mental during the handing of the tea-cups, and spoke of 
visiting Nancy at her new home. 

“ But how is it, dear,” she said, “ that his lordship and 
yourself did not go direct to the family mansion in Eaton 
Square instead of to an hotel ? ” 

“Nancy blushed a little at this question. 

“We came home hurriedly, you know,” she said, 
“when we heard Lady Gilmore had been so ill; and 
besides, as Lady Gilmore has taken no notice of us yet, 
Gilmore thought that we had better go to an hotel.” 

“That will come all right no doubt,” answered Aunt 
Fannie, nodding her head sagaciously; “and I hope 
soon to see you, my dear Nancy, settled in your country 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPT A TION. 1 6 9 

seat at Wrothsley, which I am told is a magnificent place.” 

“It’s a very big one, at any rate,” smiled Nancy, and 
then she rose and put her hand on her mother’s arm. 

“ Come and let us have a little chat upstairs, mother,” 
she said, and when she and Mrs. Loftus were alone she 
had a few words to say which brought tears to her 
mother’s eyes. 

“This is for you, mother dear,” she said, putting an 
envelope into her mother’s hand which contained bank 
notes for a hundred pounds; “and I will send a hun- 
dred every quarter, and you must not say no.” 

“My darling, I cannot take it,” answered Mrs. Loftus, 
much affected. 

“But you must, mother dear ; Gilmore gives me a large 
allowance for dress and my private expenses, and I can 
spare a hundred a quarter quite well, and it will make me 
so happy to think that you will have a little more money 
to spend.” 

“ But Nancy, darling, you will require a large sum to 
spend, in your present position, and I could not bear to 
pinch you. No, dear, I really cannot take it.” 

“I won’t ask you,” said Nancy, kissing her mother’s 
cheek, “but I’ll leave this to-day, and every quarter you’ll 
get a check for a hundred, and I shall be very cross in- 
deed if you say anything more about it.” 

Mrs. Loftus hesitated. 

“It's too much, my love,” she said, “ I will take one 
hundred a year from you if you will, but I cannot take 
more.” 

But Nancy would not listen. 

“No,” she said prettily. “I shall have my own way 
and she finally got it, and after she was gone, when Mrs. 
Loftus told Aunt Fannie of Nancy’s generosity, that lady 
was extremely delighted. 

“I think, Lucy,” she answered, “ the best thing that 
we can do now under the circumstances, is to begin to 
keep house together. You see, with our united incomes, 
we would fully have a thousand a year and that would 
enable us to live most comfortably, and in a better style, 
which is very essential, as Nancy has married into the 
nobility. What do you say to this idea, for if we decide 
on it we should begin to look out for a better house ?” 

But Mrs. Loftus only made some evasive reply to this 
proposal ; she was thinking sadly enough of the time when, 


1 70 A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 

had her sister-in-law offered to join her in housekeeping, 
that it would have been almost everything to her father- 
less children ; but the offer was not then made. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE SUSPENDED SWORD. 

While Nancy was drinking tea at her mother’s, and 
smiling and chatting to her young brother, and sisters, 
the suspended sword had fallen, which in truth had hung 
over Gilmore’s head almost from his birth, bringing in- 
tense rage, fury, and utter astonishment to his soul. 

Scarcely had Nancy left him, when Mr. Stafford, the 
lawyer, was announced, and Gilmore received him in his 
usual pleasant, easy fashion. 

“ Ah, Mr. Stafford, ’’ he said, “ how are you ? I wrote to 
you to ask about my mother’s health; I was terribly 
shocked to hear she had had such an attack. ” 

“It was a very serious seizure,” answered the lawyer 
gravely : “but she is so far recovered now that she has 
regained her speech and partially the use of her limbs.” 

“ I am most awfully sorry ; you know she and I had a 
little disagreement at the time of my marriage, but I 
never expected nor intended that it should be serious. I 
shall go down to Wrothsley to see her at once I think.” 

The lawj^er cast down his eyes, considering how best 
to break his news, but for a moment or two spoke no 
word. 

“ Have you seen her? ” asked Gilmore. 

“Yes,” answered Mr. Stafford, now looking up. “ I 
was lately sent for to go to Wrothsley, on a most extraor- 
dinary business ; in fact, so extraordinary, that I could 
scarcely believe the evidence of my own senses.” 

“And what was that ?” asked Gilmore sharply, who 
was struck by the lawyer’s manner. 

“ I shall begin by asking you,” said Mr. Stafford, “if 
you remember or ever heard of an elder brother of yours, 
who was supposed to die in infancy ? ” 

“ I could not very well remember him as he died when 
I was a baby ; but I have heard my father speak of him 
and say he was a hunchback. But why do you say sup- 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


171 

posed to die? He did die, for when my poor father was 
buried I saw his little coffin in the vault at Wrothsley.” 

“Yet now your mother, Lady Gilmore, declares that he 
did not die ” 

“ What r>” interrupted Gilmore, and his face grew pale. 

“Lady Gilmore declares most solemnly, and made a 
deposition in my presence, and that of a magistrate, and 
a Catholic priest, to the effect that this child is still alive. 
He is now, of course, grown to manhood, and was brought 
up, Lady Gilmore affirms, by his nurse, a Mrs. Brewster, 
with her full knowledge and connivance, and she now 
wishes, and indeed has acknowledged him as her son, 
and he is at present at Wrothsley.” 

An oath broke from Gilmore’s quivering lips. 

“ It is a confounded lie ! ” he said loudly and passion- 
ately. “ A plot no doubt hatched by some of those 
Catholic priests, who have got round my mother and per- 
suaded her to say anything in her weak state. You don’t 
surely for an instant believe such a rubbishy story ? ” 

“I would fain not believe it, Lord Gilmore, but it is a 
most remarkable affair, and Lady Gilmore, who is in her 
perfect senses, seemed very much in earnest.” 

“ Why it carries absurdity on its face ! What possible 
motive could she have for saying the child was dead if he 
were not ? ” 

“A very strange one, if her account be true. Itseems 
your brother was born a hunchback, much to the disgust 
and anger of your father, who continually said harsh and 
bitter things to Lady Gilmore on the subject ; and when 
you were born openly declared that he wished this child 
would die, so that you might become the heir. And the 
temptation entered Lady Gilmore’s mind — so she states 
— to take the child away, and give out that it had died. 
She carried this out, she says, and took the baby and his 
nurse to an obscure village on the northern coast, and 
from thence wrote to your father that the little heir had 
died of fever. 

“But how could such a thing be carried out? There 
are such things as certificates of births and deaths, are 
there not ? ” 

“ Certainly ; and your mother forwarded a forged certi- 
ficate to your father, and also had carried with her to this 
village a little coffin. She states she left the child and its 
nurse there, and carried the coffin, hidden somehow, with 


IJ2 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


her back to town, and then drove with it to the house in 
Eaton Square, and uncovered the coffin as she drove 
there, and it was carried into the house by the servants, 
who had been informed that the little heir was dead. 
The empty coffin had been securely screwed down by the 
nurse before Lady Gilmore left the village, and by Lord 
Gilmore s orders it was enclosed in a second coffin in 
town, on which the age and date of the boy’s supposed 
death was recorded, and it was then taken down to 
Wrothsley and deposited in the family vault. ” 

“Then why*” cried Gilmore excitedly, whose face had 
grown paler and paler during this narrative, “was this 
coffin not opened, and this absurd story of a sick woman’s 
fancies cast to the winds ? ” 

“ Lord Gilmore, you should never have heard such a 
story from me if this little coffin had not been opened. 
In my presence and that of one of my clerks whom I took 
down with me, as naturally we wished no gossip in the 
place that we could help : in my presence then, and that 
of Mr. Brandon, of Brandon, who you know is a magis- 
trate in your county, this coffin was opened, and we found 
it empty ; and the one coffin enclosed in the other just as 
your mother described. The inner-coffin had no inscrip- 
tion, but the outer one had. And I forgot to say the 
Catholic priest, Father Hayward, was also present.” 

“Yes, Father Hayward indeed! No doubt he was 
present to carry out his own plot ! I believe this is a 
conspiracy to defraud me, and no doubt this pretender 
that they have taken to Wrothsley has been brought up a 
Roman Catholic ? ” 

“ I believe that is so.” 

“I thought as much. Well, Mr. Stafford, I mean to 
fight this out to the very end. What ! did the fools sup- 
pose I was going to be imposed upon by such a stupid 
fraud as this ? I offended my mother by my marriage, 
and she is a passionate and even violent woman, and in 
her anger she has allowed the priests to get hold of her, 
and this empty coffin and invented story are the com 
sequences.” 

“ It may be so — but ” 

“It is so!” said Gilmore with strong emphasis. “It 
is a plot, and nothing but a plot, to rob me of my in- 
heritance.” 

“Any man would feel as you do under the circum- 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


1 73 

stances, and I must say nothing could justify Lady Gil- 
more in acting as she has done. If her story be indeed 
true the wrong she did her eldest son is not so great as 
the wrong she now would do you. But I will show you 
her deposition ” 

“The deposition of a mad woman!” interrupted Gil- 
more angrily. 

“And one strange part of the case is, that both your 
mother and this Mrs. Brewster have preserved the whole 
of the correspondence which has been carried on between 
them during the last twenty-four-years, concerning this 
boy’s rearing and education ; and these letters bear the 
postmarks of their different dates, which it would be 
impossible now to procure. Lady Gilmore also, when 
this young man was twenty-one, advanced a considerable 
sum of money to stock and take a farm for him, and Lady 
Gilmore now holds the receipt for this money.” 

“Do you believe all this, Mr. Stafford?” 

“I have seen all these documents, unfortunately.” 

“Then you mean to go over to them?” said Gilmore 
passionately, the veins in his forehead starting with sup- 
pressed rage. “In that case I shall need another lawyer. ” 

“I most earnestly ask you to consult not one but a 
dozen, Lord Gilmore. Let us have the best advice in 
town ; consult with first-rate counsel on all the points that 
I have had the unhappiness to lay before you. And there 
is one thing I have thought of — Lady Gilmore states that 
some four and twenty years ago on a certain date, she 
and the nurse, Mrs. Brewster, took a little hunchbacked 
child to this northern village, and that she left the nurse 
and the child there. She also states they have lived in 
the same village ever since. Now I propose, in your in- 
terests, to send down to this village a confidential agent 
to make inquiries concerning this child. It could not 
have died without it being known there, for its very birth- 
mark makes this impossible. But if Mrs. Brewster has 
lived there twenty-four years, and if this infant has been 
seen to grow from babyhood to boyhood, and then on to 
manhood, bearing this peculiar birthmark, then I fear the 
case looks very strong for them, and very black for us.” 

Gilmore was silent for a moment or two, and seemed 
impressed with the lawyer’s argument. 

“And this fellow,” he said at length, “whom they 
have brought to Wfothsley, is he a hunchback too?” 


T 74 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


“I have not seen him, but I am told that he is, and 
also that his likeness to the late Lord Gilmore is very- 
strong.” 

Gilmore shrugged his shoulders. 

“That might be,” he said contemptuously. 

“Still the coincidences are very strange.” 

“This fellow may have been my father’s son, and my 
mother may have known of this, and thus kept him from 
starvation. ” 

“But would she wish to disinherit her own son for the 
son of another woman ?” 

“ Not if she were in her right senses, but I don’t believe 
she is.” 

“Well, my advice to you would be — but remember, I 
entreat you, to take other advice before you act on it — but 
mine would be for you to go down to Wrothsley, and see 
your mother, and hear from Lady Gilmore’s own lips a 
story so strange and unaccountable that it seems absolutely 
impossible fully to believe it. In the meanwhile will 
you come down to my offices any time it suits you to- 
morrow, and personally inspect these extraordinary docu- 
ments, so that you may be satisfied with the truth of what 
I have told you.” 

They parted with this arrangement : Gilmore was to go 
down on the following morning to Mr. Stafford’s offices, 
and an eminent counsel whom Mr. Stafford named had to 
be summoned to meet him there, and the whole of the 
papers that Father Hayward had brought up had to be 
gone over. 

“I most earnestly hope we may find some flaw in the 
chain of the evidence,” said the lawyer as he shook Gil- 
more’s hand, and Gilmore tried to smile in reply to this 
wish, but the attempt was a very feeble one. 

But after Mr. Stafford was gone a perfect storm of pas- 
sion and rage took possession of him. He walked up and 
down the room, he bit his lips, his brow was damp with 
moisture, and the expression of his hazel eyes was some- 
thing terrible. 

If this story were true ? The very thought was horrible 
to him, for in all his pampered life Gilmore had fully 
appreciated the good gifts which Fortune had seemingly 
showered on him. Young, rich, and handsome, and 
holding a high position in the world, he had sometimes 
affected to despise these things, but he had never in truth 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


I 7S 

done so, and the very idea of losing them, the very thought 
that his rights should be attacked, filled his soul with 
unutterable rage. 

He was still in this dark and angry mood when Nancy 
returned. She entered the room looking flushed and 
happy, for the meeting with her family and the giving of 
presents had been a great pleasure to her ; but the moment 
that her eyes fell on Gilmore’s face she saw something 
had greatly annoyed him. 

“ 1 hope I am not late,” she said. “But the children 
had so much to say.” 

“Confound the children!” muttered Gilmore in his 
rage. 

Nancy looked at him in utter astonishment. 

“What is the matter?” she asked, approaching him. 
“Are you angry about anything, Gilmore?” 

“Angry!” he almost shouted. “Do you know what 
has happened while you have been away ? That marriage 
of ours has enraged my mother so that she absolutely 
pretends that an elder brother of mine, who died in infancy, 
did not die, and that I have no right to the title ! ” 

“I do not understand,” faltered Nancy, with her fright- 
ened eyes fixed on his face. 

Then, with outbursts of rage and anger, and passionate 
exclamations intermingled, Gilmore told the story, and 
ended it with words that fell on his young listener’s heart 
cold and chill as ice. 

“I don’t believe a word of it all the same,” he said; 
“but there it is — and that confounded marriage of ours 
has caused it all ! ” 

Nancy grew pale, and bit her lips, and her dark eyes 
fell. 

“ I have to see the lawyers about it to-morrow, ” contin- 
ued Gilmore, who was too much taken up with his own 
wrongs to notice Nancy’s emotion, “and of course I 
mean to fight it out.” 

“I — I — am very sorry,” said Nancy in a low, broken 
voice; “but — but even if this is so, Gilmore, you will 
still have money, you know.” 

These words made Gilmore more angry still. 

“It’s all very fine talking in that way, ” he said roughly ; 
“people like you who had nothing to lose to begin with, 
and have been accustomed to poverty all your life, speak 
very lightly of losing wealth and position, You are the 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


1 76 

last person, too, I think, not to be completely upset by 
this, when, confound it, you have caused it all ! ” 

Nancy made no answer to this cruel speech ; one mo- 
ment she look in the face of the angry man, and that glance 
of silent reproach and pain made Gilmore feel rather 
ashamed of himself. But Nancy did not wait to hear 
him express this, if indeed he would have done so. She 
turned and left the room, and went to her own, and, hav- 
ing locked the door, burst into a very paroxysm of tears. 
But it was not for lost rank or wealth they were shed, 
though Nancy might not be indifferent to these things. 
But that Gilmore should speak thus — the lover, the hus- 
band of a few months, whom she had loved ! And pres- 
ently she got up and bathed her eyes, with a strange 
new feeling in her heart. Gilmore had roughly swept 
away something he never could regain. 

To do him justice he apologized to her during the even- 
ing, and when he saw her white face and violet-rimmed 
eyes, felt that he owed her one. He went up to her and 
laid his hand on her shoulder. 

“ I am sorry if I said anything to vex you, little woman, 
but it’s enough to drive a man mad, isn’t it ? ” he said. 

“It is very terrible,” answered Nancy, without looking 
at him ; “ but it may not be true.” 

“ Of course it’s not true — still I should not have blamed 
you — let us kiss and be friends he stooped down and 
kissed her, but Nancy’s lips made no response, and Gil- 
more understood that the sting of his words still rankled 
in her heart. 

The next morning he went down to Mr. Stafford’s offices, 
and was forced to admit in his own mind that the mass 
of evidence in favor of his brother’s claims was very 
strong. 

Accompanied by Mr. Stafford, he then went to the cham- 
bers of one of the most eminent counsel in town, and this 
gentleman’s opinion was unfavorable to his own rights. 
He returned to his hotel, therefore, in a state of impatient 
anger he could not restrain. Mr. Stafford had advised him 
to see Lady Gilmore without delay, and had promised to 
consult further counsel on the case. Thus when he next 
saw Nancy he brusquely informed her that he was going 
to start at once for Wrothsley. 

“Then I shall go to my mother’s until you return,” said 
Nancy. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION’. 


177 


“You shall do nothing of the kind,” he answered; 
“ you must stay on here, for I shall only be away a day 
or two ; and there’s another thing, Nancy, I cannot have 
those people of yours coming hanging about you.” 

“ Do you mean I have not to see my own relations?” 
asked Nancy with some indignation. 

“I mean I cannot have people like Mr's. Barclay, or 
whatever is her name, coming here. There has been 
enough mischief already, and I mean to try to persuade 
my mother to take you up.” 

Nancy bit her lips to suppress the angry words she could 
scarcely restrain. But Gilmore was in too great a hurry 
to notice this. He wanted to catch a certain train, and 
he had no time to lose, and he did not waste it in farewell 
words. He kissed Nancy, and gave her some money and 
went away, and the poor girl was left alone with her own 
sad and bitter thoughts. 

But not for long. As she sat sad and silent during the 
afternoon, to her consternation “Mrs. Barclay ’’ was an- 
nounced, and Aunt Fannie, dressed in her best, and look- 
ing her very worst, was ushe-red in, and immediately 
began effusively kissing Nancy. 

“I was determined to come the very first day to see 
you, my dear,” she cried amid her embraces. “Your 
mother wished me to wait a little, but I would not listen 
to her, as I knew you would be glad to see me. But where 
is his lordship ? ” 

“ He has started for Wrothsley to see his mother,” an- 
swered Nancy. 

“And left you? Well, I suppose that is because she 
has been, and I believe is, so ill, for I see about her in the 
society papers, you know. But Nancy, my dear, as his 
lordship is away you cannot be left alone. I tell you 
what I’ll do ; I’ll come and stay with you here until his 
return, and it will be a very nice little change' for us 
both.” 

Poor Nancy ! With Gilmore’s parting words ringing in 
her ears, what was she to say to such an offer? She 
blushed, she hesitated, while Aunt Fannie went on mak- 
ing her arrangements. 

“I will go back at once,” she said, “and get what I 
shall want by way of dress, and be here again before 
dinner-time. I am so glad I thought of it, and we might 
go to one of the theatres to-night, Nancy.” 

12 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


178 

“But, Aunt Fannie,’'* said Nancy, now driven to des- 
peration, “ before he left, Lord Gilmore said I was to see 
no one, and go nowhere during his absence.” 

“He could not object to your own aunt I think, my 
dear,” replied Mrs. Barclay, drawing up her stout little 
form. 

‘ ‘ He said I was to make no exceptions,” faltered Nancy. 
“I — I really dare not ask you, Aunt Fannie.” 

Mrs. Barclay felt very indignant, but her respect for 
Lord Gilmore’s rank forbade her to say what she thought 
of his conduct. She, however, did give Nancy one hint. 

“ There is just one little bit of advice I might give you, 
Nancy, for I was a wife for many years myself — never 
let a man think you are afraid of him, for if you do he 
will become a complete tyrant. You should hold your 
own, and let him know it ; and before I would have put 
up with poor Barclay interfering with the visits of my 
relations, or indeed interfering at all, I should have made 
him repent it, I can tell you ! ” 

In the meanwhile, as the golden rays of the sinking sun 
flooded the vast park at Wrothsley, filling it with won- 
drous beauties of light and glory ; Gilmore, pale and 
excited-looking, was passing through the fair heritage 
that he had once deemed so securely his. 

His heart was very bitter within him. Never before 
had the green glades, the noble avenue of stately trees, 
the shining turrets of the great house his grandfather had 
built, on which the western rays now glinted, seemed so 
precious in his sight. He thought, too, of other proper- 
ties belonging to this wealthy family — of the lochs, the 
salmon streams, and the deer forest, on the extensive 
estates in Scotland — of, in fact, a hundred gifts of fortune 
which had all been his. And if they should pass away ? 
Something like a curse rose on his lips, for his soul was 
full of wrath. 

He had driven from the station nearest Wrothsley in a 
hired carriage, but he had left this at the entrance of the 
park, meaning to walk up to the house ; and as he went 
on he suddenly saw two men approaching him from an 
opposite direction. One of these, the butler Graham, he 
instantly recognized — but the other? In a moment it 
flashed on his mind who it might be, and as his stern 
eyes fell on his brother’s features he bit his lips and grew 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION, 


179 

a shade paler than before, for it seemed to him almost as 
though he were again looking on his father’s face ! 

On seeing him the obsequious Graham became actually 
agitated. 

“ Why, here’s my lord ! ” he exclaimed, without think- 
ing, and as the three met, Gilmore stopped. 

“How is Lady Gilmore!” he asked haughtily of 
Graham. 

“My lady is much better, my lor ” faltered the 

butler, and then he remembered and pulled himself up. 

In the meanwhile Gerard had been looking somewhat 
nervously at the slender, graceful man before him, and 
understood that this was the brother who had enjoyed his 
birthright and borne his rightful name. 

“I suppose,” he said, addressing Gilmore with affected 
carelessness, “ we ought to know each other — we are 
pretty near relations, aren’t we? ” 

“ I recognize no such relationship,” said Gilmore, yet 
more haughtily ; and without another word he moved on, 
leaving Gerard full of indignation. 

“Well, of all the conceited stuck-up swells I ever came 
across he beats them ! ” he exclaimed, angrily. “A fel- 
low, too, that’s been robbing me all these years, he might 
have kept a civil tongue in his head ! ” 

Thus from the first there was ill-blood between the two, 
and the evil Lady Gilmore had done was fated to rankle 
like poison in her children’s hearts. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE BROTHERS. 

Gilmore walked on after this meeting in the park, with 
a frowning brow, and the bitterest emotions surging in 
his breast. The sight of Gerard — the likeness to his dead 
father — the bitter birthmark that had caused all this sin 
and sorrow, filled his soul with absolute loathing for his 
brother. And well he knew he was his brother ! Not 
for one moment did Gilmore deceive himself after he had 
looked on Gerards face. He remembered his father so 
well, and the strange horror of seeing the very features in 
life again that he had last seen cold in death, at once 
swept ever y real doubt from his mind? 


x go A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, \ OR , 

And this low-bred cad would supplant him ! he reflected 
with extraordinary bitterness. Take his lands and his 
name, and leave him to the pity, perhaps the amusement, 
of the world. There was such fierce anger in Gilmore's 
heart as he thought of these things against his mother, 
that by the time he had reached the Castle he had for- 
gotten all about her recent and dangerous illness ; had 
forgotten everything but his own wrongs, and his burning 
indignation against her. 

With scant ceremony he spoke to one of the servants as 
he entered the magnificent house that used to be his own, 
and with hasty footsteps he passed up the broad stair- 
case on his way to his mother’s rooms. The servants 
looked after him half-pityingly and half-afraid. The 
story was known now, and “ my lady’s ” temptation and 
cruel wrong to her two sons had been freely discussed we 
may be sure in the household. They looked after the 
gloomy-browed man, therefore, who had stalked into the 
hall, but no one dared to interfere with him, and a few 
moments later Graham, the butler, came in, looking pale 
and scared. 

‘ ‘ Has he arrived ? ” he asked, breathlessly, and on re- 
ceiving an answer in the affirmative he gravely shook his 
head. 

“I wish there mayn’t be some mischief, I am sure, 
between them,” he muttered, and he also went upstairs, 
feeling it would be well that “my lady” should have 
some assistance near her. 

In the meanwhile Gilmore had reached his mother’s 
boudoir, and after a moment’s hesitation he opened the 
door and went in. Lady Gilmore was lying back on a 
couch as he entered, and his entrance slightly startled her. 

“ Who is that? ” she asked, peevishly ; “ I did not ring.” 

“You may well ask who it is,” answered Gilmore, 
gloomily; and as the familiar voice fell on her ears she 
gave a half cry, turned her head round and sprang to her 
feet. 

“Gilmore!” she exclaimed, in the excitement and 
agitation of the moment. 

“ I thought you had been affirming that I have no right 
to that name,” he said, with great bitterness. “I have 
come to ask you, mother, what all this means?” 

Lady Gilrriore ‘sank back with a moan on the couch as 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPTA T10M 1 8 1 

he spoke, and covered her altered face with one of her 
shaking hands. 

“ That is so, that is so,” she moaned. “Hugh, your 
brother is your fathers eldest son. ” 

“Then why,” asked Gilmore, loudly and passionately, 
‘ ‘ if this be true, did you practice such a base deception ? 
What good did you do by it ; what object had you except 
to spoil two lives ? ” 

Again an inarticulate sound of anguish escaped Lady 
Gilmore’s quivering lips. 

“I ask you why?” said Gilmore, yet more passion- 
ately. 

Then Lady Gilmore’s hand fell, and she looked at her 
son with haggard eyes. 

“You may well ask,” she said; “Hugh, in my mad 
love for your father and to please him, I committed this 
great sin. Not that he knew, no suspicion ever crossed 
his mind, he believed his eldest son was dead, the poor 
hunchback he despised, and it made him glad and happy 
to think this, for he was proud and fond of you, and hated 
the other.” 

“It was a mad act,” said Gilmore, impatiently. 

“ It was, it was indeed ! And not only mad, but a 
great and cruel wrong — and but for you — the secret would 
have died with me.” 

These words angered Gilmore excessively. 

“But for me!” he repeated, indignantly. “I chose 
my own wife if you mean that, and I consider you have 
taken a contemptible revenge ! ” 

Once more Lady Gilmore moaned aloud. 

“And, moreover,” went on Gilmore, “ I don’t choose 
to believe this romantic story, which I consider has been 
concocted between you and your priests because I took 
my own way and not yours. I think you have acted 
shamefully, that is the truth — most shamefully ! ” 

He raised his voice angrily as he spoke, and Lady Gil- 
more started to her feet and stretched out her hands 
imploringly. 

“ Oh ! spare me, spare me, my son,” she prayed. 

“And have you spared me,” he retorted. “Look at 
the position you have placed me in, and now, without 
right or reason, you have brought this low-bred, and, for 
anything I know, low-born cad to try to supplant me ! 
You had no right to bring this fellow here, and I’ll dispute 
it in every Law Court in England, before 


i8 2 A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, 0R y 

He never finished this sentence, for as he went on with 
loud voice and passionate gestures, Lady Gilmore sud- 
denly gave a wild weird cry, and fell forward on the 
carpet at his feet. She was again stricken with paralysis, 
and as Gilmore raised her in his arms and looked at her 
ghastly distorted features and writhing limbs, his con- 
science smote him like a sharp sword. 

He laid her on the couch near, and then rang violently 
for assistance, and a minute later Graham, who had been 
lingering in the adjoining corridor, ran hastily into the 
room. 

* 5 What is it, my lord?” he asked, forgetting Gerards 
claim in his agitation ; and then as his eyes, too, fell on 
Lady Gilmore’s face, he gave a pitying exclamation. 

“ Oh ! my poor lady ! ” he said ; “ she’s taken another 
stroke ! ” 

“Send for the doctors at once,” said Gilmore hoarsely, 
who was now bending down and trying to rub his mother’s 
stiffening hand. “Go at once and send the servants, the 
women — mother, do not look like that — mother, speak to 
me and say you are better now?” 

But no words came from Lady Gilmore’s twitching lips, 
and her expression was so dreadful that it was terrible to 
look upon her. Graham ran out of the room to call assist- 
ance, and for a moment or two Gilmore was alone with 
the stricken woman, whose restless, rolling eyes never 
left his face. But in vain he asked her to forgive him, to 
forget what he had said. If Lady Gilmore heard she 
made no sign, and Gilmore, who was shocked and afraid 
at what, he had done, bent over her in momentarily 
increasing agitation. 

A few minutes later some of the servants came hastily 
into the room; and then a gray-haired woman, who knelt 
down by Lady Gilmore’s side, and took one of her hands 
and looked anxiously into her face. This was Mrs. 
Brewster, who had arrived at Wrothsley the day before 
after an absence of twenty-four years. 

“My poor lady,” she murmured, “ I thought it would 
be too much for her.” 

Then, as she looked round for something she required 
for Lady Gilmore, her eyes fell on Gilmore, whom she 
had not seen since he was a little babe. Yet in a moment 
she guessed who it was, and understood what had brought 
on Lady Gilmore’s second seizure. 


LAD V GILMORE'S TEMPT A T/OJV. 1 8 3 

“Is — she any better, do you think ?" asked Gilmore 
with faltering tongue. 

Mrs. Brewster shook her head. 

“ Not yet," she answered, “but I hope it will pass off." 

“ Mother," again said Gilmore, and as he spoke, 
Gerard, who had heard from Graham of his mother’s 
illness, also entered the room, and once more the two 
brothers were face to face. 

“ What is the matter ? " asked Gerard hastily. 

“ Hush, Gerard, she must be kept quite quiet," said 
Mrs. Brewster, unconsciously resuming her old authority 
over her foster child ; but Gerard’s face had grown very 
dark when he saw Gilmore. 

“ If I thought " he began. 

“Gerard, would you kill your mother?” said Mrs. 
Brewster, in a low tone, rising hastily from her knees, 
and putting her hand on the arm of her adopted son, “go 
out of the room, dear ; this is no place for you." 

But Gerard still looked defiantly at Gilmore, who, how- 
ever, absolutely ignored his presence. But he had seen 
him, and the sight was gall and bitterness to his soul. 
He turned his head abruptly away, while Mrs. Brewster 
persuaded Gerard to leave the room, and then, after he 
■was gone, again took his mother’s now rigid hand. 

And he thought — it might be fancy — but still he did 
think — that those cold, stiff fingers tried to press his, and 
this idea made him look yet more anxiously, more ten- 
derly, at the changed face of her who had loved him so 
well. At all events he never left his mother’s side until 
the little country doctor arrived who had attended him 
first after he had received his wound in the park, and who 
now hurried into the room, and proceeded at once to do 
what he could for Lady Gilmore. 

Then Gilmore went away to summon other doctors 
from town by telegram, and he also telegraphed to Nancy 
the news of his mother’s illness. He wrote these telegrams 
in the library, and then rang for Graham to send them at 
once, and Graham entered the room feeling that his 
present position was certainly a very trying one. 

“ Best call ’em both my lord until it’s settled," he 
decided before his respectful entrance, and he proceeded 
to carry this out to the best of his abilities. 

He took the telegrams in his hand, and then lingered a 
moment in the room. 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT 0R f 


184 

“I was going to ask, my lord,” he said very defer- 
entially, “ if your lordship would like your old suite of 
rooms prepared for present use ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Gilmore, briefly ; “I shall of course 
stay on here until Lady Gilmore is better.” 

“I thought as much, my lord, and — will it please your 
lordship to dine with — the other gentleman ? ” 

“No,” said Gilmore abruptly, and he frowned, “I 
cannot; serve dinner for me in my own sitting-room.” 

Graham bowed most respecfully. 

“I shall attend to it, my lord,” he said, and then he left 
the room, and after he was gone, Gilmore frowned more 
darkly still. 

Before the evening was over the doctors from town 
who had attended Lady Gilmore during her previous 
attack arrived, and Gilmore waited anxiously to hear 
their verdict. 

It was so far favorable that they told him this seizure 
was not so severe as the first one. 

“Lady Gilmore is of an excitable nature, you know, 
Lord Gilmore,” said one of these physicians, “ and this 
attack has probably been brought on by some mental 
strain. In future, the greatest possible care must betaken 
never to cause her any anxiety or worry ; for I will not 
disguise from you that the third seizure will, in all proba- 
bility, be fatal.” 

Gilmore bowed gravely at this intimation, and there 
was something in the doctors manner as he gave it, that 
Gilmore’s quick mind concluded that he meant it as a 
warning. 

One of the London doctors stayed all night at Wrothsley, 
but the gloomy young man who remained during the rest 
of the evening shut up in his former suite of rooms, made 
no inquiries who entertained the physicians. Nor did he 
speak to the attentive Graham of the other young man 
who sat at the table where he had so long been master. 
The subject, indeed, was too bitter for words, and the 
sudden blow seemed to have changed Gilmore’s whole 
nature. He who had been so careless, smiling, and 
indifferent to most things, now for the first time seemed to 
realize their full value. He never even went to see his 
little sisters, but spent the hours brooding darkly on what 
he felt sure he was about to lose. 

Yet the next morning his heart grew softer, for the 


LAD V GILMORE'S TEMPT A TIOtf. I g 5 

London doctor sought him out, and told him there was a 
decided improvement in his mother’s condition. 

“ And though Lady Gilmore’s articulation is much 
affected,” went on the doctor, “ I have gathered from her 
that she is most anxious to see you. But let me warn you 
not to excite her in any way.” 

“ Perhaps it is not me she wishes to see,” said Gilmore 
bitterly, turning away his head. 

“Yes,” answered the doctor, 'who understood Gilmore’s 
allusion, “ she repeated twice ‘ My son, Hugh,’ and I 
believe that is your Christian name, Lord Gilmore?” 

“ Yes,” said Gilmore, still without looking in the 
doctor’s face. 

“ It is most important, you know, that every wish of 
her’s should be complied with at the present time, and I 
am sure you will gladly assist us to cure our patient ? 
smiled the urbane doctor. 

“ Of course, ” answered Gilmore, and so he followed 
the doctor to his mother’s bedroom, and a wan smile 
flickered for a moment over the white distorted features 
of the stricken woman when she saw him. 

“Well, Lady Gilmore,” said the doctor cheerfully, 
“your son has come to wish you good-morning, you see, 
and I’ve been telling him how much better you are to- 
day. J ’ 

But Gilmore’s heart did not echo these words. The 
change was so great, so ghastly, in his mother’s appear- 
ance, that it struck a vague and terrible fear into his 
breast. 

Had he killed her ? The mother who at one time at 
least had loved him so blindly. This thought darted 
through his heart like a knife as he bent over her, and 
took one of her cold, stiff hands in his. 

The next moment Lady Gilmore’s lips began to move, 
and she was evidently trying to speak. 

“What is it, mother?” asked Gilmore, bending closer 
to her. 

Then from that twitching tongue came two broken, 
scarcely articulate, words. 

“ Kiss — me.” 

He was affected, and pressed his lips on her face, and 
as he did so a gleam of joy shone in her dark eyes. 

“Bring — your wife,” presently Gilmore thought he 
heard her say. 


j86 a bitter birthright , ; or , 

“ Do you wish me to bring Nancy? ” he asked gently. 

“ Yes — write — don’t go — don’t leave me — any more.” 

Again he kissed her, and a strange moisture stole over 
his hazel eyes. 

“I will write,” he said: “Nancy. will come, you must 
learn to love her for my sake, mother.” 

But the doctor, who had been looking out of the win- 
dow, and pretending not to listen to the words passing 
between the stricken mother and her son, now approached 
to end this sad interview. 

“ I ipust not allow too much talking to-day, Lady Gil- 
more,” he said, kindly and smilingly ; and Gilmore took 
the hint, and after once more pressing his mother’s hand, 
left the room. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 
nancy's return. 

When Nancy received Gilmore’s telegram to tell her of 
Lady Gilmore’s sudden illness, she naturally carried it to 
her mother, and there was something in her manner 
when she spoke of her husband that filled Mrs. Loftus’ 
heart with a vague uneasiness. Mrs. Loftus also had of 
course heard from indignant Aunt Fannie, that Gilmore 
had requested his wife not to entertain her family during 
his absence, and had concluded her story with these dis- 
heartening words : — 

“I don’t believe it’s going to turn out well after all, 
Lucy. Nancy looks positively afraid of him, and I fear 
she’s only a sad life before her, poor thing, in spite of all 
his money.” 

Thus when Nancy brought her telegram, Mrs. Loftus’s 
fond eyes rested on her lovely blooming face with some 
anxiety, and there was a certain hardness — a difference 
in the tone of her voice somehow — when she spoke of 
Gilmore which her mother did not like to hear. 

And presently Nancy confided to her mother, as the 
two sat together with clasped hands, the strange story of 
Lady Gilmore’s eldest son ; and though she did not tell 
her mother of Gilmore’s hard words to herself on the 
subject, yet Mrs. Loftus gathered enough to learn that he 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. ig 7 

must have said something to Nancy which had hurt her 
greatly. 

But this gentle woman was ever a peacemaker, and she 
I had only soothing, tender words now for her young daugh- 
ter’s ears. 

‘ ‘ ^ this story be true, ” she said, ‘ ‘ it must be most pain- 
ful and galling to Lord Gilmore, and it is only natural 
that he should be exceedingly indignant at his mother’s 
conduct. It is a far greater injustice to him, you know, 
than to the other son, and I think nothing can excuse 
Lady Gilmore.” 

“She was so angry about our marriage I suppose,” said 
Nancy, casting down her eyes. 

“ She is a foolish woman, then. Lord Gilmore behaved 
very nobly, for just think, darling, after Lady Gilmore’s 
conduct to you, what our position would have been un- 
less he had acted as he did. ” 

These words were not without their due influence on 
Nancy’s heart, and as she drove back to her hotel from 
Hampstead she had half-forgiven Gilmore his ungenerous 
speech. And the next day brought a letter from him 
couched in affectionate terms, and telling her of his moth- 
er’s request that she should go to Wrothsley. 

“You had best start by the mid-day train, dear Nancy, ” 
he wrote, “after you receive this, and you can write or 
telegraph to your mother that you are leaving town. 
Bring. your maid down with you, and I will meet you at 
the station ” ; and so on. 

But Nancy did not leave town without seeing her moth- 
er. She drove over to West Hampstead early in the 
morning, and Mrs. Loftus was pleased and proud to hear 
she was going to rejoin her husband beneath his mother’s 
roof. 

And she had a word of advice also to whisper into 
Nancy’s ear. 

“And don’t forget, darling,” she said with her hand on 
her daughter’s shoulder, “that you cannot expect Lord 
Gilmore not to be upset and unlike himself if such a great 
change as this is to happen to his life. You must try to 
make up all his loss, dear Nancy, by your love and ten- 
derness. ” 

“Yes,” said Nancy softly, and she kissed her mother, 
but was soon forced to leave her, happily before Aunt 
Fannie had appeared for the day, as she always now took 
her breakfast in bed. 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 


1 88 

And presently Nancy was speeding on her way to the 
great house, that she had first entered in the gloomy 
winter days of the previous year. Now the bright glad 
fulness of spring-time was over the earth, and the fields 
were green, and the birds sang amid the fresh young foli- 
age. And as Nancy leaned back in the railway carriage 
thinking of many things, she knew that over her own 
heart, too, had passed a great and subtle change. 

She had been a girl then, and she was a woman now, 
with a vague sadness over her soul that she could not 
quite explain. In truth she was disappointed in her hus- 
band, and the knowledge that he was not what she had 
believed him to be, seemed very hard to bear. Yet when 
she reached the station nearest Wrothsley, and saw Gil- 
more’s tall slender form waiting for her on the platform, 
as she put her head out of the carriage window to smiling- 
ly greet him, she could not help feeling a little proud of 
him. 

On either side of him were his two little sisters, who 
ran forward delighted to see Nancy again. Gilmore also 
seemed pleased to see her, and kissed her as he handed 
her out of the carriage, but Nancy saw in a moment he 
was looking ill and worried. 

“And how is your mother to-day?” she asked, looking 
up in his face. 

“She is improving they say, and I hope the attack is 
passing off — but it was terrible to see her.” 

“And we’ve got another brother now you know, Nancy, ” 
began Dossy, “such a funny looking little man.” 

“Hush dear,” said Nancy, as she marked the frown 
deepen on Gilmore’s brow. 

“ It is no matter,” he said in a tone of great bitterness. 

But Miss Dossy’s prattling tongue would not be still, 
for no sooner had Gilmore handed them into the carriage 
that was waiting outside the station for them, than she 
again commenced her inappropriate remarks. 

“We must show you our new governess, too, Nancy,” 
she said ; “she’s such an ugly old thing, for mother said 
she would never have a pretty one again after you, and 
she’s certainly done it this time.” 

Nancy laughed uneasily, for she saw his little sister’s 
words annoyed Gilmore, and the next moment she stole 
her hand softly into his under the carriage rug, and Gil- 
more let it rest there, though he made no responsive pres- 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPTA T/OAT. 


189 

sure. Yet, when Nancy, a little hurt, would have drawn 
her hand away, he still held it, and it rested in his when 
they drove into the wide park, where she remembered at 
this moment, with a little suppressed sigh, she had first 
looked on her husband’s face. 

When they reached the Castle, Nancy was most respect- 
fully received by Graham and some of the other servants ; 
but Gilmore, after giving orders about the luggage drew 
her hand through his arm and led her to his own suite of 
rooms in the left wing. She looked round the luxuriously 
furnished sitting room when they were alone, with a 
smile, and again put her hand in his, for she had not for- 
gotten her mother’s words. 

“ So this is where you used to live, Gilmore ? ” she said. 

“Yes,” he answered, and he looked at her, but did not 
smile. 

“I fear I have cost you a great deal,” said Nancy, 
glancing up half timidly in his face. 

“We can’t help that now, Nancy,” he said; and the 
next moment he stooped down and kissed her cheek, but 
it was not like Gilmore’s kisses long ago ! 

And a minute later he began to talk almost passionately 
of his wrongs. 

“ I would not mind giving up the title and the property 
so much, though that is bad enough,” he said, beginning 
to pace the room with hasty and irregular step ; “but to 
be supplanted by a low-bred cad, for this Gerard is noth- 
ing better, is certainly too disgusting ! ” 

“ But it is not certain yet, is it? ” asked Nancy quickly. 

“But what can I do?” said Gilmore, angrily. “My 
hands are tied, that’s the truth, by my mother’s illness. 
If I bring the case into the law courts she would have to 
give evidence, and evidence against my claims, too ; and 
the doctors have all warned me that any excitement might 
be fatal to her; and I should not like to have her death to 
answer for.” 

“ Oh, no ; far best give it up without a struggle.” 

“ That’s very easy talking, but not so easy doing. Give 
up my name, the very house we are standing in, and a 
large fortune, to a fellow of whom I know nothing ! If 
his claim were even just; he has not been brought up to 
hold the position, and I cannot see he has any right to it.” 

Yet Gilmore knew very well as he spoke these words 
that hi? brother had 4 full right both to the property and 


9 o 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT , OR , 


the name. He had had a letter in the morning from Mr. 
Stafford, the lawyer, who told him that he had heard from 
the confidential clerk, whom he had despatched to Scarley 
to make inquiries regarding Mrs. Brewster and Gerard, and 
that there was no doubt that Mrs. Brewster had arrived 
in that village twenty-four years ago, bringing with her a 
hunchbacked child, and also that she was accompanied 
by a lady, who shortly afterwards left her and never 
returned. But Mrs. Brewster and the child remained and 
the hunchbacked boy had grown up in the village, and had 
never 1-eft it except to go to school in the adjoining town, 
returning every Saturday and staying until the Monday. 
Dozens of the villagers of Scarley were ready and willing 
to swear to his identity ; the elder ones remembering his 
arrival, and the younger ones having played with him on 
the seashore from his childhood to his boyhood, and now 
knew him in his young manhood. In fact, Mr. Stafford 
had not disguised from Gilmore that in his opinion, and 
also that of two eminent barristers whom he had consulted, 
that he believed that Lady Gilmore could without diffi- 
culty substantiate the claims of her eldest son in any law 
court in England ; and he added also that his advice 
would be for Gilmore to make the best terms he could 
regarding the division of the property, and if possible to 
keep on good terms with his brother. 

And Gilmore having read these words, knew also that 
if he carried his claims to the law, that he would kill his 
mother ; the mother that he had already struck down twice, 
and he felt that it would be impossible for him to do so. 
But all the same, this did not lessen the bitterness of the 
sacrifice. And he had an inward consciousness, too, that 
if he fought the battle he would lose it, after probably see- 
ing his mother die before his eyes ! 

Thus in a very bitter and dissatisfied mood he had gone 
to meet his young wife at the station ; and yet he had 
meant to be kind to her, just as she had meant to be kind 
to him. 

And while he was still speaking loudly and angrily 
against Gerard to Nancy, a message was brought to their 
rooms from Lady Gilmore, to tell them she would be 
pleased to receive her “son’s wife.” Nancy felt not a 
little nervous at the prospect of this interview, but a few 
minutes later, when she entered the sick-room of the 
Stricken lady, leaning on her husband’s arm, all feelings 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


1 9 I 

passed away from her heart but intense pity. There lay 
the woman whom she had last seen strong, well, and en- 
raged, standing before her, and bidding her leave the 
house, in cruel and insulting words, and now — ah ! poor 
Lady Gilmore ! Could this pallid, distorted face, those 
restless, glassy eyes, the blue-tinted, discolored lips be 
hers? Yet it was so, and as Gilmore led Nancy forward 
towards the bed, where his mother sat propped up with 
pillows, to receive them, he felt her hand trembling vio- 
lently on his arm, so shocked was Nancy at the great, sad 
change. 

“I have brought Nancy to see you, mother/’ said Gil- 
more, trying to speak lightly, and he held out Nancy’s 
shaking hand and laid it on his mother’s which was lying 
outside the coverlet. 

Lady Gilmore’s lips instantly began to twitch, as her 
eyes fell on the lovely face of her son’s wife. 

“Mother is going to say something to you, Nancy,” 
said Gilmore. 

“For — give — me,” now pitiably faltered forth from that 
stricken tongue. 

These words so affected Nancy’s kind heart that she at 
once flung herself on her knees and took Lady Gilmore’s 
hand in her own and kissed it. 

“Nay,” she said, with that charming manner of hers, 
“ it is I who ought to ask forgiveness, Lady Gilmore. I 
know it was very wrong to meet Gilmore, and yet ” 

She looked so beautiful as she raised her dark, dewy 
eyes pleadingly to the face of her husband’s mother, that 
Gilmore, who was watching her, felt a wave of his old 
passionate love and admiration for her sweep over his 
heart. He laid his hand caressingly on her shoulder ; he 
pushed back her bright hair from her brow. 

“I was the chief sinner,” he said smilingly ; “this little 
woman, mother, was most unwilling, I assure you, to 
meet me at all. I used to pester you sadly, didn’t I, 
Nancy, in those days ? ” 

She turned round and smiled at him, and Lady Gilmore 
saw their eyes meet, and remembered perhaps the days 
when her own heart had also beat with youth and love. 
At all events there was peace between them, and before 
Nancy left she asked leave to be allowed sometimes to 
come and read to Lady Gilmore. 

“Iam afraid I have not many accomplishments,” she 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


I92 

said, smiling- sweetly ; “ but my poor father used to say I 
could read aloud fairly well, Lady Gilmore, and I shall be 
so pleased to read to you/’ 

Lady Gilmore signified her acceptance of this offer, and 
Gilmore was satisfied with the impression that Nancy had 
made upon his mother. 

“I think she will get to like you,” he said, as they 
walked along the corridor together after leaving Lady Gil- 
more's bedroom. “ Ah, what a pity it was, Nan, but it’s 
no use talking of it.” 

And the next morning, shortly after breakfast, Nancy 
kept her promise and again went to see Lady Gilmore. 
But before she did so she asked her husband to go with 
her to the conservatories to gather some flowers for the 
invalid. 

“ I feel too shy to go by myself, you know,” she said, 
and Gilmore went with her, and Nancy cut a lovely posey, 
all of roses, as she had once heard Lady Gilmore say the 
rose was her favorite flower. As she flitted among the 
gorgeous blossoms, Gilmore suddenly remembered their 
first meeting here, and the lovely, girlish face that he had 
then thought fairer than the flowers. He went up to her 
and put his arm through hers and reminded her of that 
day, but Nancy had not forgotten it. 

“Do you remember, little woman, when we first came 
here ? ” he said. 

“Yes,” answered Nancy, looking at him. 

“Ah, well — ” said Gilmore ; but the next moment he 
added ; “ See, I'll give you a flower in memory of it.” 

Nancy thanked him with a smile, and placed the flower 
near her shapely throat. 

“ Do you know I think I'll go to town to-day, and see 
that fellow Stafford,” went on Gilmore. “This cursed un- 
certainty is worse than anything I think; I nearly met 
that cad this morning, and if it’s settled he stays here as 
master, we must be out of this.” 

“But your mother — ” 

“Oh, I want you to get great friends with my mother if 
you can manage it ; of course, we cannot leave while she 
continues in her present state — do you think you could 
break to her, when you take the flowers, that I want to 
run up to town to-day ? ” 

“I will try — but you won’t be long away, will you ? v 

“ I'll be back to-night, or if I cannot get away to-night 
I will telegraph to you, and return to-morrow,” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION \ 


*93 

And Gilmore carried out this plan, and left to Nancy 
the rather trying- task of telling Lady Gilmore he was go- 
ing to town. She found the invalid a shade better, and 
Lady Gilmore tried to smile when Nancy entered her room 
carrying the flowers, looking herself as fresh and lovely as 
any of them. 

“I remembered you liked roses,” she said prettily, and 
then she began to arrange them about the room, and Lady 
Gilmore's eyes followed her as she did this. 

“Hugh,” she said presently with a blush, calling her 
husband for the first time to Lady Gilmore by his Christian 
name, “is talking of going up to town for a few hours 
to-day ? ” 

♦“Why?” asked Lady Gilmore with some agitation. 

“ He has some business to see after,” answered Nancy, 
who dare not mention lawyers for fear of exciting Lady 
Gilmore ; “but he will be back to-night.” 

Lady Gilmore said nothing more, and presently Nancy 
began to read the newspapers to her in her sweet-toned, 
pleasant voice, and Lady Gilmore lay back and closed 
her eyes. Gilmore found them thus when he went in to 
bid his mother good-bye before he started for town. He 
paid her a very brief visit, for he also was afraid of her 
exciting herself, and was glad to get out of the room with- 
out being asked any questions. 

“ Nancy here will take great care of you until I come 
back,” he said, as he kissed his mother, and then he 
kissed Nancy. 

“ Good-bye, Nan, for a few hours,” he said, but as she 
followed him to the door of the room, he stooped down and 
whispered a few words in her ear. 

“ I will telegraph if I can’t get away,” he said ; and as 
Nancy returned to the bed-side, she forced back a little 
sigh. 

Lady Gilmore grew more restless after he had gone, 
and to amuse her and divert her mind, Nancy went for 
the children, and found Dossy’s description of the new 
governess by no means an exaggerated one. Nature in- 
deed had been in one of her most niggard moods when she 
formed this poor lady’s harsh, strange features. She was 
gaunt, she was gray-tinted, and yet not an unkindly light 
shone from those small gray eyes which had met no look 
of love nor admiration all her days. A sorrowful fate 
this — cold and sad — and yet many women share it, and 

*3 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


194 

pass through life in silent endurance of the knowledge 
that their ill looks have marred their happiness. 

“This is Miss Pennythorne,” cried Dossy, starting up 
from her lessons, as Nancy entered the schoolroom ; 
“and this, ” she added, as she kissed Nancy, “used to 
be our governess before you, you know, Miss Penny- 
thorne, but now she is my brother’s wife, aren’t you, 
Nancy?” 

“ Yes,” said Nancy, smiling. 

Miss Pennythorne rose and bowed, and then Nancy saw 
how very unattractive she was. Her face was so plain, 
and her figure tall, flat, and shapeless, a contrast indeed 
to the last governess, who now stood and looked round 
the familiar room, and thought of the many hours she 
had spent there, and of the sweet dreams of dawning love 
which here first had fluttered in her breast. 

“Will you let me take your young pupils to their 
mother for a little while ? ” asked Nancy with her pretty 
smile. 

“If Lady Gilmore wishes it, certainly,” answered Miss 
Pennythorne in a deep, strong voice; “but I think it a 
pity to disturb the hours of study at this time of the morn- 
mg. 

“Still, as Lady Gilmore is an invalid ” 

“That of course makes a great difference,” said Miss 
Pennythorne, and then, for the first time, Nancy noticed 
that there was a kindly look in the small eyes. “I trust 
her ladyship feels a little better this morning?” 

“Yes, I hope she is, and I thought the children would 
enliven her a little,” said Nancy; and then remembering 
how dreary it used to be here, before she knew Gilmore, 
she added kindly, “this room reminds me so much of old 
days, Miss Pennythorne; I should like to come and talk 
to you sometimes if I may?” 

And ihe gaunt woman she addressed absolutely colored 
with pleasure through her gray skin. 

“I shall be very glad,” she said; and while her eyes 
followed Nancy’s graceful figure as she left the room, she 
thought with sadness but not bitterness of their different 
fates. 

“No wonder he loved her, with that beautiful face,” she 
reflected and she sighed. Perhaps she too had had her girl- 
ish dreams, perhaps she too had once mused on love ! ” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION, 


195 

During the afternoon of the same day, while Nancy 
was again sitting reading to Lady Gilmore, a rap came to 
the bedroom door, and when the nurse rose to open it a 
gentleman walked in and went up to the bedside, and 
took Lady Gilmore’s hand in his. 

“ How are you to day ? ” he said. 

“I am better, Gerard,” answered Lady Gilmore’s falt- 
ering voice, and in a moment Nancy knew who it was. 
This was the other son, the brother Gilmore hated and 
scorned, and Nancy’s breath came quickly, and her heart 
beat fast. She scarcely, indeed, knew what to do, but 
when Gerard turned round and looked at her she gave a 
slight nervous bow. 

“Gerard — she is your brother’s wife,” said Lady Gil- 
more, and then Gerard shyly held out his hand, which 
Nancy took. 

“I am very glad to know you,” he said. 

“ I am very glad,” smiled Nancy; indeed, Gerard’s face 
was so pleasant and handsome that Nancy was most 
agreeably surprised, and Gerard also was charmed with 
the appearance of his young sister-in-law. 

They talked together for the next half-hour, and Lady 
Gilmore listened, well pleased. Her most ardent desire 
now was that her two sons should become friends — bro- 
thers indeed — and she was glad to see that Gerard and 
Nancy mutually liked each other. At last Nancy rose to 
go, and when Gerard went to the door of the room to 
open it for her, he said half-wistfully, half-shyly : 

“I — I — wish you would dine with me, to-day, as — 
Hugh is away.” 

Nancy smiled, hesitated, and finally shook her head. 

“I think I had better not,” she said; but she took 
Gerard’s hand and then went to her own rooms, and there 
found that a telegram from her husband awaited her. 

“Find I cannot get back, to night,” she read, and that 
was all. 


196 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR, 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

UNDER-CURRENTS. 

Nancy met Gerard again the next morning as she was 
passing down one of the corridors on her way to Lady 
Gilmore’s rooms, and he at once stopped, smiled pleas- 
antly, and shook hands with her. 

“ I am so glad I’ve met you,” he said. “ May I turn 
with you, for I’ve got something I want to say to you ? ” 

“Yes, certainly,” answered Nancy, with a smile. 

“Well,” went on Gerard, in his blunt way, “mother 
and I had a talk about you after you left her room 
yesterday, and we both think that you could do a great 
deal to patch up this unfortunate business between — my 
brother and myself. You see I’m sorry for the poor fel- 
low, awfully sorry, because there is no doubt it is tremen- 
dously hard lines for him, but on the other hand he can’t 
expect me to give up my just rights, can he? ” 

“No, but he may not think they are just, you know,” 
said Nancy, with a little hesitation. 

“He must know they are,” said Gerard quickly. 
“Mother had no possible motive for telling all this, ex- 
cept that when she was so ill she felt she must speak the 
truth. And it nearly broke Mrs. Brewster’s heart to speak 
it, too, I can tell you ! You see she had brought me up 
and all that, and the old woman is fond of me, and for 
the matter of that I am fond of her, though it makes a dif- 
ference knowing she is not one’s real mother.” 

“ That is only natural,” answered Nancy, to whom this 
conversation was very embarrassing. 

“Oh ! it does, you know — well, as I was saying, mother 
says Hugh is most awfully fond of you, and that’s no 
wonder, Nancy — if you will let me call you Nancy? "* 

“ Oh, yes.” 

“ And she thinks you could influence Hugh to act sen- 
sibly about all this. As I said I am most awfully sorry 
for him, and I don’t wonder at him being a bit sore, but 
he was downright rude to me you know the only time I 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


197 

ever spoke to him, and since then he has ignored my hum- 
ble existence.” 

“ He has been very much put out, and it was all such 
a great surprise to him.” 

“Oh, I quite understand all that, and I for one am 
ready to let bygones be bygones. But what I want you 
to explain to him, if you will be so good, is that I think 
his position is a very hard one, but then, you see, that’s 
no fault of mine ; and for mothers sake I think that we 
had far best come to some peaceable arrangement. And 
I for my part, though I cannot give up the title without 
making a fight for it, because to do that would be to make 
out I was not my father’s eldest son, which I am. But 
though I cannot do this, I am perfectly ready and willing 
to share the property between us ; or if this cannot be 
done exactly, on account of some entail business, to agree 
that Hugh should have a large income settled upon him 
and his heirs forever ! ” And Gerard gave a little laugh. 

“ It is very good of you,” said Nancy, with a blush. 

“Oh no, not at all good ; but I hate the feeling of there 
being such bad blood between us, especially since I have 
seen you, Nancy, and found out what a pretty little sister- 
in-law I have got.” 

“Well, I will do all I can, Gerard; and for Lady Gil- 
more’s sake I do not think Hugh will take the affair to 
law. 

“ He would only lose it if he did, Nancy. You see it’s 
plain sailing enough for me, and Father Hayward says 
all the London lawyers said so. And it would kill mother, 
too ; she’s awfully fond of Hugh — that’s the truth, and I 
believe never would have told all this if she hadn’t taken 
a fit. But she thought she had been struck down as .a 
punishment, and she dare not die unless she told the 
truth. She wrote me such a letter to tell me all this, and 
I fancy Father Hayward keeps her up in the idea a bit.” 
And again Gerard laughed. 

“And you, — do you like the change, Gerard?” asked 
Nancy, looking at him. 

“Of course, I do! If we were all settled and happy 
together I should be as jolly as anything. This house is 
settled on mother, you know, for her lifetime, and I ex- 
pect she’ll ask you and Hugh to live on here, and I am 
sure I hope you will at any rate, and I’m certain we’ll 
be good friends.” 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


198 

“You have settled it all,” said Nancy, smiling. 

“That’s my way, you know,” laughed Gerard. “And 
I like the old lady, too, and don’t want to worry her by 
letting her know that Hugh and I are such bad friends.” 

“I must try to make peace between you.” 

“Yes, you try, and you’re sure to succeed; no man 
could resist your pretty ways, I think, Nancy.” 

Nancy laughed. 

“You are quite a flatterer, Gerard,” she said. 

“I admire pretty women,” said Gerard, delighted with 
his own compliments and ease of conversation ; “ you 
see, though I was brought up in a little seaside, out-of- 
the-way place like Scarley, blood will come out. They 
say all the Gilmores were fond of handsome women, and 
I’ve; inherited that trick anyhow.” 

It was all Nancy could do to help laughing at this, as 
she noted the self-satisfied expression which beamed over 
Gerard’s good-looking face as he made this announcement. 
He was indeed on very good terms with himself, and his 
London tailor had certainly greatly improved his general 
appearance. If it had not been for the unfortunate defor- 
mity of the spine, he would in truth have been a remark- 
ably handsome young man. As it was, there was noth- 
ing repulsive about him, and his extraordinary likeness to 
his dead father struck everyone who looked on his face. 

“I was going to read to Lady Gilmore when I met 
you,” presently said Nancy. 

“Let’s go together, then,” answered Gerard, in that 
rough, though kindly tongue of his. “ Hugh didn’t come 
back from London last night, did he?” 

“No, there was a telegram from him to say he couldn’t 
get.” 

“So the butler fellow told me ; I say, Nancy, he’s a sly 
old dog that.” 

“ He’s a most polite man, I think,” laughed Nancy. 

“Oh, he’s paid for being polite, you know, that all 
comes into his day’s wages ; but he’s a deep one, and can 
see round the corner a bit.” 

“A most desirable accomplishment in the world, Ger- 
ard.” 

“I suppose it is — well, here we are at the old lady's 
door ; shall I rap or will you? ” 

Nancy rapped softly, and the door was opened by Mrs. 
Brewster, who had been talking to Lady Gilmore, and 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


m 

when Gerard saw her he caught hold of his foster-mother’s 
hand, and pulled her into the corridor. 

“Come here, you dear old woman,” he said, “and be 
introduced to this pretty young lady, who is my sister-in- 
law you know, and we’ve got to be quite great friends 
already. Nancy, this is Mrs. Brewster, who brought me 
up.” 

Mrs. Brewster made a respectful courtesy, but Nancy 
held out her hand to the old family servant, who had been 
so strangely connected with Gerard’s life. 

“ She’s not a bad old woman,” said Gerard, laying his 
hand affectionately on Mrs. Brewster’s shoulder, who 
looked at him with proud, admiring, even grateful, eyes, 
that he should thus speak of her to his brother’s young wife. 

“I am sure you took very good care of him,” said 
Nancy, gracefully. 

“I did my best, my lady,” answered Mrs. Brewster, 
with another courtesy, “and — he made all the brightness 
and happiness of my life.” 

“There now, don’t begin to cry over it,” said Gerard, 
good-naturedly; “you did your best to spoil me, you 
know, and it’s a wonder I’m as good as I am.” 

But at this moment the trained nurse who was attend- 
ing on Lady Gilmore came to the door of the room and 
said that Lady Gilmore wished to know who was talking 
outside. 

Then Nancy and Gerard entered the sick-room together, 
and the poor invalid looked pleased when she saw them. 

“And — Hugh?” she inquired presently. 

Upon this Nancy explained : Hugh had been unable to 
return last night, she said, but she expected him to-day. 
If, however, Nancy did expect him he never came, and 
the evening’s post brought her a letter from her husband, 
which was as follows : — 

“Dear Nancy, — I could not get back last night nor yet 
to-day, for I have been and am so occupied about this 
disgusting affair that it may be some days now before I 
return. I saw Stafford the lawyer at once when I got to 
town yesterday, and also consulted some of the big-wigs 
on the point of that cad’s identity being disproved. But 
I got cold comfort for my pains, and it seems there is no 
doubt that the hunchback has always lived at this northern 
village, where my mother says she took him in his 


200 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


infancy. In fact these lawyers as good as told me that I 
should lose the case if I fought it. I will therefore send 
Stafford down to Wrothsley, and see what terms can be 
arranged with the fellow. In the meantime, if you see 
him, you had best be civil to him, though 1 feel it will be 
impossible for me ever to be so. I trust my mother is keep- 
ing better : please give my love to her, and with love 

“ I remain, 

“Affectionately yours, 

“G ” 

He had not written his usual signature “Gilmore/ 7 and 
Nancy understood the bitterness of heart which prevented 
him doing this. He still bore the name in the world, but 
he knew he had no right to it, and after as good as 
acknowledging this in his letter he would not use it. She 
therefore at once sat down and wrote to him, and she did 
this in very tender words. 

“My dearest Hugh, — I was very glad to receive your 
letter, though much disappointed that I shall not see you 
to-day, for I fully expected to do so. Strange to tell, 
yesterday I met Gerard for the first time in your mother’s 
room. He was very kind and nice when Lady Gilmore 
introduced me to him as “your wife” ; and again to-day 
I met him by accident in one of the corridors, and he 
asked me if he might turn with me as he had something 
he wished to say. He did turn with me, and what he 
wished to say was this. He is most anxious to befriends 
with you, and though he could not give up his claim to 
the title, he said he thinks all this has been, and is, most 
dreadfully hard on you, though it is of course through no 
fault of his, he said. And he proposes that some friendly 
arrangement should be arrived at between you, and that 
a large income should be settled on you out of the prop- 
erty. Thus you see there will be no difficulty in Mr. 
Stafford coming to terms with him, and really, dearest 
Hugh, he seemed very kind-hearted and nice. I do so 
hope that all this sad business will be arranged peaceably, 
and I am sure he wishes this so much, too. Your mother, 
I am most happy to tell you, is brighter and better to-day, 
and seems very anxious for your return also. Do come 
back soon. 


“Your loving Nancy.” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTA TlOtf. 201 

Gilmore (for we must yet call him so) received this 
letter on the following morning at his hotel, and read it 
with a gloomy brow. 

“ So even she is beginning to run after this fellow, and 
take his part,” he thought bitterly ; and he thought bitterly, 
too, at this moment, how much Nancy had cost him. 
And, by-and-bye, he carried her letter with him to the 
lawyer’s, and told Mr. Stafford as much of its contents as 
he thought necessary to relate. 

“Well, I think the young man is acting very uprightly,” 
said Mr. Stafford ; “ of course, we cannot expect him to 
relinquish his father’s name : and if he is willing to settle 
a large income upon you, that also is but just.” 

Gilmore’s handsome lips curled. 

“The lawyer, too,” he was thinking, “is after the 
rising sun — soon they will all be.” 

But he kept his reflections to himself, and had a long 
conversation with the lawyer respecting the vast sums of 
money that belonged to the House of Gilmore. 

“Would you be satisfied with ten thousand a year?” 
asked Mr. Stafford, and Gilmore shrugged his shoulders 
at the question. 

“It’s a nice come down, isn’t it?” he said. “Suppose 
we try for fifteen thousand a year, and the Scottish prop- 
erty, as that is not entailed, for my father bought it, not 
the old man.” 

“Well, we can try ; when shall I go down to Wrothsley 
then and see this young gentleman ? ” 

“As soon as you conveniently can ; it would be well 
now, I think, if it were all settled.” 

“Yes, but, of course, there will be delays — the law’s 
delay,” smiled Mr. Stafford, but Gilmore did not smile in 
return, but left the lawyer’s office, gloomy-browed as he 
had entered it. 

After this he went to one of his clubs, and saw, or 
fancied he saw, his acquaintances looking covertly and 
curiously at him. The strange story of his elder brother’s 
re-appearance had in truth crept out, and, though his 
friends did not speak of it to him, there were many odd 
tales afloat, and the heart of the Honorable Kate Butler 
rejoiced within her when she heard them. 

And there was another heart — a heart that Gilmore had 
well-nigh broken in his careless youth — that these rumors 
had also reached, filling it with passionate joy, at one 


202 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR , 


moment that a just punishment had befallen him, and at 
other moments with vague, eager longings to comfort and 
console the lover who had been false to her. 

Did he go blindly or willingly to his fate this afternoon, 
when about four o’clock he drove in a hansom to a 
certain house in St. George’s Road, S.W., and stopped at 
a door on which “Dr. Robertson” was engraved? He 
had corresponded With this doctor occasionally ever 
since he had received the mysterious letter at Wrothsley 
during his illness after he was wounded, to which he had 
been compelled by his weakness to ask his mother to 
reply to. He had sent large sums of money from time to 
time after this to Dr. Robertson, and had seen him once, 
and now he was going to make some inquiries which he 
considered he was bound by honor to do. 

A small brougham was standing before the doctor’s 
door as he drew up, but this moved on to make way for 
his hansom ; and just as he ascended the door-steps, just 
as his hand was touching the bell, the door opened, 
and Dr. Robertson and a lady appeared from within. 

What made Gilmore start and grow pale as his eyes fell 
on that woman’s face? She was tall, dark, and hand- 
some, and looked worn and ill, and no sooner did she see 
Gilmore than she staggered back, a half-cry escaped her 
lips, and she would have fallen, but the doctor caught her 
in his arms. 

“Are you ill? ” he said, hastily. “Mrs. Ferrars, what 
is the matter ? ” 

But no word came from her pale lips ; she had fainted 
with the sudden shock of seeing Gilmore, and the doctor 
perceiving this, and not at the moment recognizing Gil- 
more, asked him to assist him to carry her back into the 
house. 

“This poor lady has fainted, I see,” he said, “so per- 
haps you will kindly help me to carry her into my con- 
• suiting-room. She has been very ill for some months, 
but I did not expect such a sudden attack as this.” 

Then Gilmore advanced, and placed one of his shaking 
hands below her arm, and between the two men the faint- 
ing woman was borne into the consulting-room, which 
happily was on the ground floor. When there, they laid 
her on a couch, and the doctor proceeded to endeavor to 
revive her, but five or six minutes passed before she 
showed any signs of life. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


203 

As the doctor was sprinkling her face with water, and 
applying strong essences to her nostrils, he chanced to 
look at Gilmore, and it was now his turn to start. 

“ Lord Gilmore ! ” he said in a tone of great surprise. 

‘ ‘ Has she been ill ? ” asked Gilmore, in a faltering voice, 
who was greatly shocked by the change in the white, 
altered face lying before him. 

“She has been very ill for some months/’ answered the 
doctor in alow tone ; “she had scarcely recovered the 

effect of her wound, when But at present it is 

unwise to speak of it.” 

The unfortunate woman by this time had begun to 
heave deep and apparently painful sighs, and tears gathered 
beneath her white eyelids, and rolled down her pale cheeks. 
Then she opened her large dark eyes — eyes that would 
have made any face attractive, if not beautiful : they were 
so lustrous and full of power — and fixed them on Gilmores 
face. 

“Alice,” he said, bending over her, and taking her hand, 
“are you any better now ? ” 

She did not answer ; still she kept looking at him, as if 
she were uncertain about something — as if in doubt. 

“Yes, you are better now, Mrs. Ferrars,” said the doctor ; 
“ try to swallow this, and it will revive you.” 

But she took no heed, and never moved her eyes from 
Gilmore, and then presently with a sigh she put her hand 
wearily to her head. 

“Am I dreaming? ” she said, in a weak, low voice, 
“ or is it really you — Gilmore? ” 

“It is really me,” he answered. “I am sorry I 
startled you so, Alice.” 

“I have been so ill, you know — I used to fancy things 
— and I thought perhaps when 1 saw you it was fancy 
too. ” 

“I am very sorry indeed you have been so ill,” said 
Gilmore earnestly ; “I came here to-day to ask after you 
— it was strange we should meet.” 

Again the woman sighed, and again her dark eyes 
sought his face. 

“And you,” she said, “ you too look ill — are you ill, 
Gilmore ? ” 

“ I have been desperately worried lately,” he answered. 
“I think there is nothing but trouble and worry in the 
world, Alice.” 


204 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


“And great pain,” she said, slowly. 

Gilmore turned away his head with a restless gesture. 

“ Let me persuade you to take this, now, Mrs. Ferrars, ” 
urged the doctor, who was standing near with a restorative 
poured out ready in a wine-glass ; “it will make you feel 
ever so much stronger.” 

She put out her hand, and the doctor assisted her to 
raise the glass to her lips, and then she swallowed it. 

“It will pull you together,” said the doctor, kindly. 

She sat still and silent for a few minutes after this, and 
then she rose half-tottering to her feet. “I ought to be 
going now,” she said, “going ” 

Gilmore put out his hand and caught her arm. “ Lean 
on me,” he said, “ you are not strong enough to walk yet, 
Alice. Stay a little while longer, and then I shall see you 
safely home. ” 

“ You P ” she asked, in a sort of thrilling whisper. 

“Yes, of course ; do you suppose I should allow you 
to go alone ? ” 

“ You had better wait a little while, Mrs. Ferrars,” said 
the doctor, “ and then if it is not convenient to Lord Gil- 
more to go with you I can take you home.” 

“It is quite convenient to me,” said Gilmore a little 
haughtily. “As soon as you feel able to go, Alice, I will 
take you. Was that your carriage at the door? ” 

“Yes,” she answered in a low tone ; and a few minutes 
later, leaning on Gilmore’s arm, she passed out of the 
house, and after he had handed her into the brougham he 
seated himself by her side. 

They drove on in silence for a few moments, and then 
with a sudden outburst of passionate emotion the woman 
clasped his hand. 

“Will you ever forgive me, Gilmore?” she cried. 
“ But remember I wished to die — I tried to die ! ” 

“ Hush ! do not talk of the past,” he answered, gently ; 
“you have suffered enough. Alice — try to forget it all.” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


205 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


LOOKING BACKWARDS. 




A day later Mr. Stafford, the family lawyer, arrived at 
Wrothsley, and had a prolonged interview with Gerard, 
and also with Father Hayward, and during this interview 
Gerard showed much generosity concerning the division 
of the property with his younger brother Hugh. 

“It’s awfully hard on the poor fellow, you know,” he 
said to Mr. Stafford, frankly, “and if he’s willing not to 
fight the case for our mother’s sake, I am willing as far as 
possible that everything should be equally divided be- 
tween us — except, of course, my father’s name.” 

“ Your sentiments do you great honor,” replied the cau- 
tious lawyer, “ but you must remember that if you become 
the head of the house that you will have claims on your 
income, which any one holding the ppsition of a younger 
son will not have ; and by your late grandfather’s will, the 
first Lord Gilmore, the whole of the property which he 
held during his life-time is entailed on the direct heir, and 
therefore in this arrangement cannot be interfered with.” 

“ But my brother must have an income,” said Gerard, 
hastily. 

“Certainly; a large income is absolutely due to him, 
as by this unhappy act of Lady Gilmore’s he is placed in 
a peculiarly trying and unfortunate position ; but as regards 
land there is the Scottish property which is unentailed.” 

“Well, let him have that then,” said Gerard. 

“ But it is part of the landed property, and should belong 
to the rightful heir, should it not?” said Father Hayward 
quickly. 

“No, my dear sir, if the rightful heir is ready and 
willing to resign it to a brother placed in such a peculiar 
position as our friend, who now bears the title of Lord 
Gilmore,” retorted the bland lawyer. “We must consider 
that neither of these young gentlemen are to blame in the 
slightest degree for the circumstances in which they find 
themselves; and if, for their mother’s sake, and out of 


206 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


consideration for the delicate condition of her health, they 
are anxious to avoid taking the case into the Law Courts, 
there must necessarily be some sacrifice on either side.” 

“Of course, I quite understand that,” said the priest ; 
“and it would doubtless kill Lady Gilmore if she were 
now called upon to give direct evidence in the witness- 
box.” • 

“Precisely; her deposition, and the whole circum- 
stances of the case will, however, have to be laid before a 
Committee of the House of Lords before you, sir,” and he 
looked smilingly at-Gerard, “can assume the title of Lord 
Gilmore, or take your seat in Parliament as a Peer of the 
Realm. It will, in fact, have to be proved to the satisfac- 
tion of the Lords’ Committee that you are actually the 
eldest son of the late Lord Gilmore before you can do this. 
But the evidence is so direct that I have no fear of the 
result ; and in the meanwhile it is well to come to some 
peaceable arrangement with your brother. Am I to un- 
derstand, then, that you are willing to resign the Scottish 
property ? ” 

“Most certainly,” said Gerard, with decision. 

“So far well, then, this will not leave him entirely 
without property, btit these Scottish acres, though of some 
extent and valuable to a sportsman, do not bring in a large 
revenue. Now, let us consider about the income you are 
prepared to settle on him, should your claims to the peer- 
age be established.” 

But we need not go into any further details. 

Gerard was quite ready to settle any income that the 
lawyers thought just and even generous on his brother ; 
and Mr. Stafford judiciously kept before his mind’s eye 
that his claims were not yet fully established, and that 
they had to be proved before a Committee of the House 
of Lords before they could be. But on the whole he 
favorably impressed the acute man of law, who, when 
he returned to town, saw Gilmore and related his success 
with Gerard with satisfaction. 

“After all,” he said, looking at Gilmore with a smile, 
“ your position in any case is a very enviable one. You 
are the Honorable Hugh Gifford, with a fine income of, 
let us say, fifteen thousand a year, a deer forest and trout 
stream, I believe unrivalled in Scotland, and also, we 
must not forget, you are the direct heir to the whole prop- 
erty. With your brother’s unfortunate personal deformity 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


207 

he will probably never marry, and he will also probably 
not live long, at least, as a rule, deformed people tio not ; 
and it is very much better that you should be on friendly 
terms with him, and he is certainly anxious to be good 
friends with you.” 

But Gilmore expressed no answering sentiments of good- 
will. The necessary steps to establish Gerard’s claim to 
the title were to be at once commenced, and he did not 
mean to oppose them, for his mother’s sake he told him- 
self, though a “still small voice” whispered in his ear it 
was also because he knew his opposition would not avail 
him. And strange, after he left Mr. Stafford’s offices, the 
words of the lawyer, which he remembered most distinctly 
and which recurred most frequently to his mind were, 
that Gerard might die. 

“Would to God he was dead,” he thought, vindictively, 
“his life is a curse to mine.” 

He lingered in town two days after Mr. Stafford re- 
turned from Wrothsley, though he had no especial reason 
for doing so. But so intense was his dislike to the idea 
of again meeting Gerard in their changed positions, that, 
though it stung his pride to the quick to know that his 
story was now almost public property, and that if people 
still addressed him as Lord Gilmore, it was fairly well 
known he had no real right to the title ; yet he still even 
preferred the annoyances that this entailed to once more 
encountering the brother he so bitterly hated and despised. 

And during these two days also he went to see the 
dark-eyed woman who had only loved him too well. It 
was a strange meeting between these two, and carried 
Gilmore’s thoughts back to the days of his early man- 
hood, when he had encountered abroad in her lovely 
prime a young girl, half-English, half-Spanish (for her 
father had married an Andalusian), and this girl’s beauti- 
ful face had soon won his ardent and fickle fancy. He 
was travelling at this time with a private tutor, and prob- 
ably this gentleman thought it was his duty to give Lady 
Gilmore a hint of her young son’s infatuation. At all 
events, to Gilmore's surprise and consternation, his mother 
suddenly joined him in Spain, and remained with him 
until he returned to England. 

But there were stolen interviews and whispered vows 
of which the mother knew not, and though Lady Gilmore 
imagined at the time that she had taken her son safely 


2o8 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, \ OR , 


out of the way of temptation, she had not done so until 
the dark-eyed girl he loved had promised to follow him to 
England. Her English father, who had held some appoint- 
ment as engineer at one of the Spanish mines, was dead, 
and she was living with her mother’s relations, and though 
she bore the English name of Alice Ferrars, she had all 
the strong characteristics of the women of her mother’s 
race. Beautiful, passionate, loving, she had given her 
whole heart to the young English lord, who had wooed 
her beneath the orange groves in the dusky hours of her 
glowing clime. She escaped from the surveillance of her 
friends, and they were too lazy or too indifferent to seek 
to follow her, for she was a penniless orphan, and had 
chosen her own fate they said with a shrug. Gilmore in 
his boyish ardor had promised to marry her, and the poor 
girl implicitly trusted to his honor. He had supplied her 
with money for her secret flight, and after various advent- 
ures she reached London safely, where Gilmore joined 
her, and for a while her beauty and tenderness, and the 
romance which hallowed their love, made him completely 
devoted to her. 

But alas, alas ! — she was almost totally uneducated, 
her rank was completely beneath his, for neither on her 
fathers nor her mother’s side did she come of gentle 
blood. She was in fact little better than a beautiful peas- 
ant girl, and it gradually dawned on Gilmore’s mind that 
to marry her would be to hang a millstone round his neck, 
which would sink him in social importance forever. 

And so time drifted on, and three years passed away 
and his promise of marriage was still unfulfilled. She had 
borne this if not uncomplainingly, with a certain loving 
patience which might have moved the heart of a nobler 
man. But about this time a new instinct arose in her 
breast — an instinct strong, natural, and passionate as her 
love for her young lover. She was about to become a 
mother, and for the sake of the unborn child she insisted 
that Gilmore should marry her. He now felt that this 
would be impossible ; his love had waned, and he told 
himself that, by birth, education, everything, she was 
totally unfitted to be his wife. He grew tired of her con- 
stant appeals ; he left town and went to stay at Wroths- 
ley with his mother, where he never for a moment 
contemplated that she dare follow him. 

But he had not reckoned on the warm Southern bloocl 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


209 

flowing in her veins, or the strong maternal instinct 
which filled her untutored heart. One dusky November 
afternoon a note was brought to him to tell him that she 
was absolutely staying in the neighborhood, and that if 
he did not meet her, and agree at once to fulfil his prom- 
ise of marrying her, that she would go straight to his 
mother and tell the whole story ; and in this note also she 
named a certain spot in the park where she was awaiting 
him. 

In a rage Gilmore went out to meet her, and found her 
in the thicket where he was later on in the afternoon 
found wounded. A most stormy interview took place 
between them ; Gilmore positively refusing to marry her, 
and angrily reproaching her for having followed him to 
his mother’s house. 

“ I will go to her, then ! ” she cried. “ I will go this 
instant ! ” 

“And what good would that do?” retorted Gilmore, 
scornfully. “ If you went twenty times she would only 
order you to be turned out of the house.” 

The maddened creature upon this produced a small 
revolver which she had kept hidden about her person, 
and swore she would shoot Gilmore unless he fulfilled his 
promise. 

He laughed contemptuously, for he was brave by nature 
and thought she was only trying to frighten him. But a 
moment later she raised her weapon and fired, and after 
staggering for a second or two Gilmore fell wounded and 
bleeding at her feet. 

He became almost immediately unconscious, and the 
terrified, horror-stricken woman believing that he was 
dead, turned and fled from the spot, with the curse of Cain 
burning on her miserable soul. 

How she got back to her house in town she never knew. 
Her brain was frenzied, her whole being filled with un- 
utterable horror and woe. She had slain, she thought, 
the man she loved with an intensity of passion that Gil- 
more had never understood ; and the same night Dr. 
Robertson, of St. George’s Road, was called up to attend 
on a poor lady who had shot herself in one of the houses 
in the street, and who was supposed to be dying. 

She lived through that night, her brain reeling, and her 
self-inflicted injuries bringing her very near to the release 
from her misery she constantly prayed for ; and two days 

*4 


210 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


later, amid her throes of anguish, a dead child was born, 
and for some time afterwards she was totally unconscious. 

It was during these weeks of madness that Dr. Robert- 
son thought it his duty to write to Lord Gilmore. Scandal 
had already bound together the names of the young Lord 
and the dark-eyed Spanish woman he was known to con- 
stantly visit ; and this letter reached Gilmore on his sick- 
bed, and shocked him so terribly that it considerably 
retarded his recovery. 

We already know the rest of this sad story. Gilmore 
sent money to Dr. Roberston, and frequently corresponded 
with him regarding the state of his patient : and yet that 
wayward heart of his soon found a new attraction ; soon 
saw in Nancy Loftus’ lovely young face, a charm, a beauty, 
that he believed no other woman possessed for him. 

Then came the time of his hasty marriage, and he 
wrote while abroad again to Dr. Robertson, asking him 
to tell Mrs. Ferrars of this event. 

This news brought another attack of brain fever on the 
unhappy woman, who knew now that her shot had not 
been fatal ; that her false lover still lived. 

Gilmore had regularly sent money for her to Dr. Rob- 
erston, but he had never seen her nor corresponded 
with her since that almost fatal interview in the park at 
Wrothsley, until he met her by accident coming out 
of the doctor’s house. 

The great change in her appearance touched him, and 
his own troubles perhaps had made him more pitiful for 
hers. At all events he went to see her on the following 
day, and all the old devoted love revived in Alice Ferrars’ 
heart. He said no word of reproach to her for having 
attempted to take his life, and even made a sort of ap- 
ology for his marriage. 

“ My mother had been exceedingly rude to her on my 
account,” he told Alice, “and I felt bound to protect her 
from insult.” 

“And what is she like, Gilmore?” asked Alice Ferrars, 
wistfully. 

“She is a nice little girl,” he answered, lightly ; “but 
you must not call me Gilmore any more, Alice ; ” and 
then he told her the story of Gerard’s claims, which she 
already partly knew. 

“ It is a shame ! it is a shame ! ” she cried, in her im- 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


211 


pulsive way. “You are the true lord; the other has no 
rights ? ” 

Strange, but these words from this ignorant, impassioned 
creature were pleasing to Gilmore’s ears. He kissed her 
when he parted with her, and promised to see her the 
next time he was in town. And then, with absolute 
loathing in his heart, on the following day he turned his 
steps homeward, knowing that the sharpest humiliation 
of his life was now to be encountered. 

He had not telegraphed tp Nancy to tell her the time of 
his proposed arrival, and, as he drove through the park 
when he reached Wrothsley in the afternoon, a sight met 
his angered gaze which seemed to make his cup of bitter- 
ness overflow. 

Emerging from one of the side paths he suddenly per- 
ceived Nancy, Gerard, Dossy, and Flossy, all walking 
together, hand-in-hand, in a row ! The two little girls 
were on either side of Nancy, and each held her hand, 
and on the other side of Dossy was Gerard, whose hand 
was also linked in his young sister’s. They did not at 
first notice the carriage approaching which contained 
Gilmore, and were all laughing and talking together very 
merrily. 

“Drive on quicker,” safd Gilmore as he neared them, 
putting his head out the window and addressing the 
driver of the hired carriage he had picked up at the sta- 
tion ; and as the man obeyed him Nancy saw for the first 
time who was in the carriage, as she caught a glimpse of 
Gilmore’s head. 

She made a few steps hastily forward but Gilmore only 
sternly raised his hat slightly by way of salutation, when 
he met the little group, and a moment later he had passed 
them. 

“Well, I must say that’s a civil way of returning to the 
bosom of his family,” said Gerard looking at Nancy. 

“Perhaps he thought it would be awkward to stop,” 
answered Nancy, with a sinking heart. “ I think I had 
better turn. I must go and see if he wants anything.” 


212 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR, 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE WIDENING OF THE BREACH. 

Nancy expected to find Gilmore in a towering passion 
when she reached his suite of rooms, and she certainly 
did so. His face was pale, his brows knitted, and his 
eyes full of indignation, and he received her with very 
scant courtesy. 

“Well, I must say,” he began, “ you all seem to be on 
very friendly terms here ! May I ask, Nancy, how long 
it is since you commenced to walk hand-in-hand with the 
hunchback ? ” 

“ I was not walking hand-in-hand with him, Hugh. 
Dossy had hold of his hand, that was all. ” 

“Quite a pattern family group, it seemed to me,” 
scoffed Gilmore, bitterly, “ and he makes himself perfectly 
at home here, I suppose ? ” 

“Your mother wishes him to be recognized, and of 
course — ” 

“Do they call him Lord Gilmore then ?” interrupted 
Gilmore loudly and passionately, as Nancy hesitated a 
moment. “They have no right to do so ; he has no right 
to take up the title until I lay it down, and his claims 
have been proved and recognized before a Committee of 
the House of Lords, and I’ll soon let him know this, 
I can tell you.” 

“ But Hugh — your mother ordered the servants to call 
him Lord Gilmore,” said Nancy, half frightened by his 
violence. 

“Then she had no right to do anything of the sort. 
She ought to have been the last one, I think,” he added, 
darkly, “to be so eager to cast this insult upon me.” 

“She does not mean it in that way Hugh ; indeed she 
does not,” said Nancy very earnestly. “She thinks 
it just and right, you know, and she does so wish that 
you and — your brother should be on friendly terms.” 

“ Friendly terms ! ” repeated Gilmore derisively; “do 
you think a man is likely to feel on friendly terms 
with another man who has stepped into his place, taken 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


f> T * 

Z1 D 

his name, and made a fool of him in every sense ? I hate 
him, that is the truth; hate him with my whole heart.” 

“ Oh, Hugh! ” 

“And to come back and find my place filled up, my 
wife, siding with this stranger, and on the most familiar 
terms with him, is a little too much for the patience of 
anyone ! ” 

“You are speaking unjustly,” said Nancy with some 
anger; “you told me in your letter to be civil to him, 
and when you dine with people every day you cannot 
help talking to them.” 

“Then as he is now addressed as Lord Gilmore, may I 
ask what name you bear in the household?” inquired 
Gilmore with a sneer. 

“They call me Mrs. Gifford — Lady Gilmore wished this 
to be so.” 

“You had no right to give up the name you have borne 
as my wife, until I gave you leave ! ” said Gilmore, more 
angrily still. In fact everything Nancy said seemed only 
to irritate him, and she finally left him alone to recover 
his temper. 

His arrival placed her also in a most uncomfortable 
position to Gerard. She had dined with Gerard since she 
had received Gilmore’s letter requesting her to be civil to 
him, and naturally had been on good terms with the 
brother of her husband, who, on his part, did everything 
he could to please her. But now she felt almost afraid to 
speak to Gerard, lest she should increase Gilmore’s anger 
against him. Gilmore either was, or pretended he was, 
too unwell to dine anywhere but in his own sitting-room 
on the first evening, and Nancy naturally dined with him. 
But the next day even Gilmore saw that it was impossible 
for this state of things to continue, and that he must force 
himself to go through the humiliating ordeal of making 
the acquaintance of his brother. He did this with the ut- 
most repugnance, but at last consented to go down at 
luncheon time with Nancy, and when they entered the 
small dining-room together they found Gerard already 
there. 

“I must introduce you to each other,” said Nancy, 
trying to act as peace-maker, as gracefully as she could, 
and making an effort to smile, though really her heart 
was sinking. “Gerard, this is my husband.” 

Then Gilmore (for we must yet call him so, though 


214 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


from this day he refused to recognize the title) bowed his 
haughty head, and looked steadily at the brother who had 
supplanted him. 

“ I hope you are better. I am glad you have come 
down,” said Gerard, hastily, and rather nervously, and 
held out his hand, which Gilmore just touched. 

“ I am very well,” he said, coldly, and then he spoke 
a few words about the weather as indifferently as he 
could. 

The position was in truth even more trying than he 
expected, and when luncheon was served he sat sullenly 
down at one side of the table, and motioned to Nancy to 
sit by his side. 

“Oh, no,” said Gerard, meaning it all in kindness, 
“Nancy must not sit there, she must sit at the head of 
the table ; she always does.” 

“I prefer her to sit here,” said Gilmore, coldly and 
repressively ; and during the meal the conversation was 
most forced and strained. But towards its close, however, 
Gerard’s spirits rose a little, for he always drank a great 
deal of wine. 

“ May I drive you out this afternoon, Nancy ? ” he said 
presently ; “I can drive a bit, you know, however much 
my education has been neglected.” And he gave a little 
uneasy laugh. 

“I don’t know,” said Nancy, rather nervously; “I 
think I shall not be able to go,” and she glanced at Gil- 
more, “for 1 am going to read to Lady Gilmore.” 

“Oh, I dare say my mother would spare you for an 
hour or two, and perhaps Hugh here will go with us too ? ” 
said Gerard. 

An absolute scowl passed over Gilmore’s brow but only 
for an instant. 

“You are very good,” he said, “but I shall be engaged 
all this afternoon, and I want my wife to write some 
letters for me.” 

Thus poor Gerard’s well-meant efforts at conciliation 
were in vain, and when Gilmore rose and left the room 
immediately afterwards Gerard could not restrain his vex- 
ation to Nancy. 

“I say, Nancy,” he said, “this kind of thing will never 
do, you know ; I am not going to be spoken to and treated 
in that manner at my own table, I can tell you.” 

“ It’s all so strange to Hugh, but it will soon wear off,” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION 


215 

answered Nancy, apologetically ; “you see he’s been 
master here so many years.” 

“That’s all very fine, but when I’m ready to do so 
much, and give up so much — more than the lawyer fellow 
wanted me, I assure you — I think Master Hugh might 
keep a civil tongue in his head.” 

“It will all come right by-and-bye,” said Nancy sooth- 
ingly ; “the change is so great, we must bear with 
Hugh’s bad tempers a little bit.” And she held out her 
hand to Gerard, who stooped down and kissed it. 

“I would bear with a great deal to please you,” he 
answered, and then he helped himself to another glass 
of wine, and Nancy left him still sitting at the table. 

She found Gilmore, however, unreasonably angry, for 
after all, poor Gerard had done nothing really to offend 
him. 

“I cannot bear it, that’s the truth,” cried Gilmore, when 
Nancy entered his room ; “vulgar, low-bred cad for him 
to dare to ask me to go out with him.” 

“But Hugh, consider.” 

“ I have considered, but it’s too intolerable to me, and 
then the fellow’s assurance is so great.” 

“It is not his blame ; you know how he was brought 
up,” said Nancy, gently. 

“There! taking his part as usual — how my mother 
could be so mad, so utterly mad ! ” 

He was still going on in this strain, upbraiding Nancy 
one minute and abusing Gerard the next, when a card 
was brought to Nancy on which the name of her old 
friend, Lady Blenkensop, was engraved. 

“It is Lady Blenkensop, Hugh, will you come and see 
her?” said Nancy. 

“Certainly not,” he answered, “I do not want to be 
condoled with more than I can help.” 

“Well, I must go to her, then,” and for a moment 
Nancy hesitated ; the next she went up and laid her hand 
on her husband’s shoulder. 

“Oh, dear Hugh,” she said, “I do wish you would 
try to feel all this less. I know how trying, how painful 
it is, but still ” 

“ I would not care if the fellow wasn’t so intolerable,” 
answered Gilmore, half-ashamed of himself. “I know 
it’s hard to abuse you, poor little woman,” he added, “ but 
it puts me in a rage your seeming to like him.” 


21 6 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


“I think he is good-natured and kind-hearted, that is 
all, and he, too, feels that it is so hard on you, but you 
won’t meet him half-way, you know?” 

“I don’t want any of his pity. However, nevermind, 
Nancy,” went on Gilmore, more in his old manner, “ I’ll 
endeavor to meet him half-way as you call it, at dinner- 
time ; and now you had better go to the military dame 
who awaits you.” 

“That’s a good boy,” said Nancy smiling, and with a 
little nod she left the room, and went to seek Lady Blen- 
kensop, whom she had not seen since she had stayed 
with her a few days when she was a girl, and when her 
ladyship had lectured her on the attentions of Sir John 
Oakes ! 

She was standing erect and imposing as ever as Nancy 
entered Lady Gilmore’s boudoir, and looking out of one 
of the windows of the room was a gentleman, who turned 
round at Nancy’s appearance, and fixed his gray eyes 
with some emotion on her lovely face. 

“ Well, my dear,” said Lady Blenkensop, going forward 
and taking Nancy in her strong arms, and kissing her on 
each cheek, “ there have been great changes since we last 
met. ” 

“Yes indeed!” said Nancy with a little blush and a 
smile. 

“And I have brought an old friend with me to see you 
to-day,” went on Lady Blenkensop in her energetic way ; 
“you remember my nephew, Godfrey Erne?” 

“Oh yes, yes ; ” cried Nancy, and her blush deepened ; 
“ it seems so long since I saw you.” 

The gentleman at the window had by this time advanced 
to Nancy, and had taken her hand in silence. He was 
a good-looking man, this, of some thirty-three years ; 
brown and soldier-like ; and he had clear steely-gray eyes 
and a heavy brown moustache and brown hair. 

“Godfrey has got his step, you know,” continued Lady 
Blenkensop, “ and has come home on sick leave, as he 
has had jungle fever, though I tell him he doesn’t look 
much like an invalid. It seems strange, Godfrey, doesn’t 
it, to see her married?” she added, turning to her 
nephew. 

“Strange indeed!” answered Major Erne, and there 
was some agitation in his voice. 

He had been in love with Nancy, in fact ; in love with 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


2ty 

the pretty dark-eyed girl whom he had danced with so 
often, and suppressed so often too the tender words that 
would fain have trembled on his lips. But he was a poor 
man in those days, and knew he had no means to sup- 
port a young wife, and he knew also that Nancy would 
have no fortune. Yet there had been times when Godfrey 
Erne had almost forgotten this ; when he had been nearly 
led away by Nancy’s beauty and sweetness to tell her 
how dear she was to him ; but he had not actually done 
this. Then Nancy went to England with her mother, 
and thus they were parted, but her memory had never 
quite drifted away from his mind. The news of her mar- 
riage had been a sharp pain to him, for Major Erne had 
sometimes indulged in a foolish dream that when he got 
his promotion he would go to England, and ask Nancy to 
be his wife, forgetting that such a pretty girl was sure to 
find other admirers. It was, in fact, one of those unfin- 
ished love idylls which fall athwart the paths of men and 
women like the fleeting sunshine of an April day. Nancy 
had half-forgotten Godfrey Erne by this time, yet when 
she looked again on his handsome features, and met the 
gray eyes that always softened when they rested on her 
face, certain memories — whispered words that had once 
made her young heart beat fast — recurred to her mind, 
and with a charming blush and smile she alluded to their 
former friendship. 

“Seeing you brings all the old days back to me,” she 
said. 

“Then you had forgotten them until you saw me again ? ” 
answered Major Erne also with a smile. 

“Oh, no — but so many things have happened since 
then.” 

“ Wonderful things, certainly,” said Lady Blenkensop, 
“what of this extraordinary story I hear, Nancy, that 
Lady Gilmore has brought forward another son?” 

Then Nancy related the strange tale and Lady Blenken- 
sop listened with uplifted hands. 

“Well, of all the astonishing things I ever listened to, 
I think this is the most wonderful. Then, you are not 
absolutely Lady Gilmore after all, Nancy ? ” 

“No, only plain Mrs. Hugh Gifford,” answered Nancy 
smiling. 

“The Honorable Mrs. Hugh Gifford at all events,” 


2 1 8 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR , 


corrected Lady Blenkensop. “ And how does your hus* 
band bear it ? " 

“ Not very well I'm afraid/' said Nancy, casting down 
her eyes. 

“ It's immensely hard on him there is no doubt, and 
yet I can understand how Lady Gilmore's dangerous ill- 
ness made her see this foolish action of her youth in its 
true light. And the other young man, what is he like, 
Nancy ? " 

“ He’s very good-natured and kind, but then of course 
he’s not been accustomed to the position he now holds, 
and his manner worries Hugh, unfortunately." 

“ He’ll have to learn to get over that," said Lady Blen- 
kensop in the philosophic manner we speak of the misfor- 
tunes of others. “And his fortune as a younger son of 
such a rich family is sure to be a large one. You have 
made a very good match after all, Nancy." 

Nancy laughed and blushed a little, and then after a 
few more words Lady Blenkensop rose and took her leave, 
but not without pressing Nancy to visit her at Greystone 
Lodge. 

“ And bring this new brother-in-law of yours with you, 
Nancy," she said; “The General, I am sure, will like to 
see him after he hears all this romantic story you have 
told us, and of course I shall expect to see your husband, 
too." 

Nancy thanked her, and then half-shyly took leave of 
Major Erne, who was very quiet during the drive back to 
Greystone. 

“Well, how do you think she is looking?" asked his 
aunt, after they had started on their way. “ ]3o you think 
she is improved or gone off"?" 

“ She used to be a pretty girl ; she is a lovely woman 
now," answered Nancy’s old lover, and then he folded 
his arms and sat thinking moodily enough of the happi- 
ness he had perhaps thrown away. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


219 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE QUARREL. 

Gilmore — or perhaps it were well now to call him by 
his true name, Hugh Gifford — for he dropped the title 
from the hour that he sat in bitterness at the side of his 
brother s table, really intended to keep his half-promise 
to Nancy to treat Gerard with greater civility, and went 
down to dinner on the same day full of this good inten- 
tion. 

But unfortunately Gerard had been extremely annoyed 
by his manner during luncheon, and after Nancy left 
him sat on drinking a great deal more than was good for 
him. This naturally did not improve his temper, and he 
had by no means regained it by dinner-time. He there- 
fore received Hugh somewhat sullenly, and the younger 
brother was speedily angered by a sort of aggressive 
tone in Gerard’s replies to his efforts at conversation. 

Nancy tried to make things more pleasant, but saw 
with consternation that Gerard went on drinking deeply, 
and evidently intended to assert his position. And the 
servants had no sooner left the room than he actually did 
this. 

“Isay, Mr! Hugh,” he said, roughly enough, “you 
and me may as well come to a right understanding about 
things. Now I, for my part, am quite prepared to act 
justly and rightly, and I think that no one can deny that I 
have done so. But I am not prepared to be treated 
with incivility, and, moreover, I won’t ! ” 

“ I don’t follow your meaning,” answered Hugh Gif- 
ford, coldly, while a scarlet flush rose to his pale face. 

“Oh, never mind, don’t talk about it now,” said 
Nancy, imploringly. 

“Yes, yes, I must, Nancy,” retorted Gerard obstinately. 
“The truth is, I can’t put up any longer with the airs this 
fellow chooses to give himself — treating me as if I was 
dirt under his feet, indeed ! Now, I am determined to be 


220 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR, 


master in my own house, and I'll let everyone know it.” 

“Don’t be so sure it is your own house yet,” said 
Hugh scornfully. 

“ Oh, yes, but it is ; and no one knows that better than 
you, or you wouldn’t give it up without a fight, that we 
may be sure. You haven’t a leg to stand on, and the 
lawyer fellows have told you the same thing.” 

“For my mother’s sake ” began Hugh Gifford, 

who was pale with suppressed passion. 

“ That’s all very fine, but people say you brought on 
our mother’s second fit ; and it looked very like it, cer- 
tainly,” went on the half-drunken young man. 

Hugh Gifford sprang to his feet. 

“Will you be silent?” he cried, the veins in his throat 
and forehead swelling with excitement. 

“No, I won’t be silent at your orders,” retorted Ger- 
ard, now also rising. “ I mean to hold my own. I am 
Lord Gilmore now, and the sooner you drop the title the 
better I* think.” 

“I have no wish to retain it, soiled as it is!” said 
Hugh Gifford with bitter scorn. 

“And what have I done to soil it, may I ask?” said 
Gerard, loudly and angrily. “ Folks say it wasn’t kept 
so clean in your hands, at all events, if the truth be told.” 

These words seemed absolutely to madden Hugh, and 
he forgot all prudence and courtesy alike. 

“ You hunchback fool ! ” he cried passionately; “say 
another word like that and I’ll strike you to the ground ! ” 

But he had scarcely spoken when, with a cry of defi- 
ance Gerard seized a wine-glass full of wine and flung it 
straight at Hugh’s face. It struck his forehead and cut it, 
and with a curse Hugh at once sprang forward to attack 
Gerard, when Nancy, with an imploring cry, caught him 
by the arm. 

“ Hugh ! Hugh ! Don’t ! don’t ! ” she cried, “just think 
for a moment — think of the scandal and shame — think of 
your mother.” 

But Hugh, blinded by rage, and partly by the blood 
which was now streaming down from the cut in his fore- 
head, pushed her roughly aside, and in another moment 
would have closed with Gerard if Graham, the butler, had 
not rushed into the room, and running in front of Ger- 
ard, prevented Hugh from attacking him. 

Graham, indeed, had seen the condition of Gerard 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPTA TIOAT. 


221 


at dinner, and also the ill-feeling which was evidently 
between the brothers, and he had loitered near the 
room door after his duties were over, and hearing the 
raised voices had gone yet nearer, and only just arrived 
upon the scene in time. 

“Oh, my lord, come away, please come away,” he 
prayed, while he protected Gerard with his substantial 
person. 

“He insulted me!” panted Gerard, who was white 
with passion. 

And now again Nancy seized her husband by the arm. 

“ Hugh, dear Hugh, for my sake, do not quarrel any 
more ! ” she prayed. “ Oh, do come away — he is not him- 
self, ’ she half-whispered ; “he did not mean what he 
said.” 

But Hugh Gifford lifted his clenched hand and shook it 
threateningly at Gerard. 

“You cur ! ” he cried, “ you low-bred cur ! You have 
struck me, and you shall bitterly rue this day. ’ And 
then he allowed Nancy to lead him from the room, and 
when they reached their own apartments his fury and 
resentment knew no bounds. 

He had in truth received a bad cut on his forehead from 
the broken wine-glass, so bad that as Nancy could not 
succeed in stopping the bleeding she was obliged to send 
for the country doctor nearest to them, and tried to make 
some excuse to account for the wound. But Hugh Gif- 
ford made none. He sat sullen and silent while the doc- 
tor extracted some particles of glass from the cut, and 
then plastered up his forehead, but after the doctor was 
gone he told Nancy his determination. 

“I cannot go to-night, for it is too late to catch any 
train,” he said, but I’ll leave this cursed house early to- 
morrow morning, and I’ll never set my foot in it again as 
long as that cur is here.” 

“But Hugh, he did not know what he was saying or 
doing — he had taken too much wine.” 

“He has said enough and done enough for me,” an- 
swered Hugh Gifford sullenly, “and I’ll never speak to 
him again on earth.” 

And in vain Nancy tried to shake this decision. 

“ But think of your mother, Hugh — think how ill she 
is ” 

“Have I not thought !” he interrupted her passion- 


222 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


ately. “But for her I should have fought this casein 
every law court in England ; to spare her I have given it 
up, and this is the end.” 

“Then must I get ready to start with you in the morn- 
ing ? ” asked Nancy, who saw his mood was too dark for 
her words to have the least avail. 

He hesitated a moment or two. 

“No,” he said at length, “ you had better stay on here 
with my mother until things are settled. But I shall leave 
first thing to-morrow morning ; nothing shall induce me 
to stay another hour. 

And he kept his word. Long, indeed, before Gerard 
had roused himself from his heavy, half-drunken slumber, 
the next day the younger brother had quitted Wrothsley, 
with rage and hatred in his heart. He kissed Nancy 
when he left her, and then, with his hat pulled low over 
his wounded brow, he was driven away from the stately 
house he had so lately deemed his own ; and while he 
was travelling to town full of anger and gloom, Gerard 
was only just awakening, and had a very dim recollection 
indeed of what had occurred on the previous night. 

“ That fellow gave himself some confounded airs, and 
we had a row,” thought Gerard ; but presently Graham 
appeared with some soda-water to appease his thirst, and 
the butler looked very grave. 

“ I had a bit of a shindy with that brother of mine last 
night, eh, Graham ?” said Gerard after a prolonged drink 
of the sparkling water. 

“ Your lordship cut open Mr. Hugh’s ’ead with a wine- 
glass, I am sorry to say,” replied the butler with just a 
shade of reproach in his voice. 

“Oh! did I? Didn’t hurt him much, I dare say?” 
asked Gerard in some alarm. 

“ We had to send for Dr. Roberts to stop the bleedin’, 
my lord; he bled very bad, and the doctor took out three 
pieces of glass from the wound, and then plastered it up ; 
he said it was a bad cut.” 

“Oh ! hang it ; I’m sorry for that — awfully sorry. The 
truth is, I’d taken a little too much champagne, I’m afraid, 
Graham.” 

“ Perhaps your lordship was a little on — champagne’s 
a very deceiving drink.” 

“But I’m sorry if I really hurt him. I must go and 
tell him so,” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPT A 1^1 ON. 


223 

‘ ‘Mr. Hugh left the Castle, my lord, in the eight-thirty 
train. He’s gone to town.” 

Gerard’s face instantly fell. 

“ Left? ” he said. “And the little woman — his wife — 
she’s not left too, I hope? ” 

“No, my lord; Mrs. Gifford is remaining on for the 
present. She is with her ladyship now.” 

In very crestfallen mood, therefore, did Gerard make 
his appearance at luncheon time, and when he saw Nancy 
he was half-ashamed to look in her face. 

“I say, Nancy, I’m so awfully sorry about all this,” 
he began ; “ the truth is I was screwed, for Hugh an- 
noyed me so at lunch I sat on drinking, and I suppose 
that made me bad tempered ; and he’s really too insult- 
ing, you know.” 

“It was a great, g.reat pity, Gerard,” said Nancy, very 
sadly. “ Hugh left this morning and said he never would 
return. ” 

“That’s all bosh ; he’ll be back soon enough I daresay, 
and to tell you the truth I think we were much more com- 
fortable without him ; all the same I am sorry that con- 
founded wine-glass cut him, and when you write you had 
better tell him so.” 

“ Very well, I shall tell him,” answered Nancy quietly. 
She knew, indeed, that though Gerard was very much to 
blame, that Hugh had undoubtedly been rude and ag- 
gravating in his manner to him ; and she knew also that 
the brothers were very much better apart. 

Gerard was very subdued and quiet all day, and was, 
in truth, thoroughly ashamed for his conduct before 
Nancy, of whom he was really fond. And Nancy, who 
was very good-natured, soon felt sorry for him, and a 
day later, when Gerard humbly asked her if he might 
drive her out in Lady Gilmore’s pony carriage, Nancy told 
him of Lady Blenkensop’s invitation to them both. 

“ She said we were to go in time for lunch. Shall we 
go to-day, Gerard ? ” Nancy suggested. 

Gerard was delighted at the idea, and soon Lady Gil- 
more’s pretty carriage and beautiful ponies were ready 
for Nancy’s use. It was a fine sunshiny day, and the 
country looked beautiful, and the long drive did not seem 
at all too long to Nancy, who really enjoyed it. They 
reached Greystone Lodge just in time for lunch, and were 
warmly welcomed by both the General and Lady Blen- 
kensop. 


224 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR, 


“This is my brother-in-law, Lord Gilmore, ” said 
Nancy, after a moment’s hesitation, and the General im- 
mediately offered his hand to Gerard. 

“Very glad to make your acquaintance,” he said. “ I 
trust your mother is keeping fairly well ? ” 

“She is better, I hope,” answered Gerard, rather nerv- 
ously in his rough voice, and as he did so Lady Blen- 
kensop fixed her keen eyes upon his face. 

But on the whole Gerard made rather a favorable im- 
pression on the party. And after luncheon was over he 
went out with the General and Major Erne to inspect the 
Generals horses, and Lady Blenkensop and Nancy had 
thus the opportunity of a little private chat. 

“Poor fellow!” said Lady Blenkensop, alluding to 
Gerard. “I think he has really been very badly treated, 
and we ought to make every allowance for him. He has 
a good face, too, and I’m glad you brought him here, 
Nancy.” 

“I am sure he has a great many good qualities, only 
his manner unfortunately is not good.” 

“ How could you expect it to be good, brought up in a 
country village as he has been ? But there is no doubt, I 
suppose, that he is the late Lord Gilmore’s eldest son?” 

“I think there is no doubt; my husband has resigned 
the title, you know.” 

“And Lady Gilmore ? How do you get on with her ? ” 

“ Oh, so well ; I read to her every day, and she is so 
kind ; I like her very much, and then I pity her so much 
too.” 


“Well, I did very well for you, Nancy, after all, then? ” 
said Lady Blenkensop, with much self-satisfaction. “I 
was angry at the time, you know, when you had that 
quarrel with Lady Gilmore, but you see it has all come 
right in the end.” 

“ Yes,” said Nancy ; and a moment later she breathed 
a little sigh which Lady Blenkensop’s quick ears heard. 

“You know, my dear,” she continued, as if almost in 
reply to it, “that no woman must expect to find her 
husband perfect. There are flaws in the best characters, 
but if you are wise you will seem blind to them, and you 
must not also expect the devotion of a lover from a hus- 
band of six months.” 

“I suppose not,” said Nancy with rather an uneasy 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


225 

Much more good advice did Lady Blenkensop bestow 
on her young friend, for it was her nature to advise and 
guide. Then presently the three gentlemen returned from 
the stables, and Gerard by this time had got on such 
friendly terms with them that he had invited them over 
to Wrothsley to dine and stay all night. 

The General, however, did not accept this invitation, 
but Major Erne did. 

“Lord Gilmore has asked me to go to Wrothsley to- 
morrow,” he said, addressing Nancy, with the grave 
courtesy which distinguished his manner, ‘ ‘ do you second 
the invitation ? ” he added with a smile. 

“Oh ! yes, of course,” answered Nancy, blushing and 
smiling; “but it’s not my house, you know — I am only 
staying with Lady Gilmore. ” 

“Nancy has to ask whoever she likes into it,” said 
Gerard, heartily ; “ and as Major Erne is an old friend of 
hers, I shall only be too glad to see him.” 

For a moment Nancy looked at Erne’s face as Gerard 
said this, and she noticed he had grown a little pale. 

“You are very kind,” he said, quietly, “and I shall be 
very pleased to accept your invitation.” 

Thus it was settled, and they parted with the under- 
standing that Major Erne was to go to Wrothsley the next 
day and stay all night. 

“And as many nights as you please,” cried Gerard 
from the pony carriage hospitably; “Nancy here, lam 
sure, will be glad to see you, and so will I, and there are 
no end of swell pictures and other things to see about the 
place, aren’t there, Nancy ? ” 

The General and his wife exchanged a smile as the 
carriage drove away. 

“ Lady Gilmore must be a very foolish woman,” said 
the General the next moment : “she has done that young 
man an injustice she can never undo.” 

“He seems very good-natured,” answered Lady Blen- 
kensop. 

“But very unfitted to be Lord Gilmore ; however, God- 
frey,” he added, turning to his nephew with a smile ; “its 
quite true what he says, that there are no end of swell 
pictures at Wrothsley ; you must get your pretty old 
sweetheart Mrs. Gifford to show you them.” 

And thus it came to pass that the morning after Major 
Erne’s arrival at Wrothsley, Nancy found herself wander- 

15 


226 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR 


ing amid the big unused state apartments, pointing out 
famous works by the great masters, to the grave-faced 
man by her side. It was a strange position, and naturally 
they both thought of the days which were gone by, when 
they had walked, too, side by side, when such different 
hopes and feelings filled their hearts. 

Nancy grew very sad, for she began talking of her 
father, as Major Erne had actually been present when he 
met his tragic death. 4 

“ I shall never forget that dreadful time,” she said ; 
“there seemed like a black cloud always over the house.” 

“Yet for you it had a silver lining? ” said Erne, looking 
intently at her lovely face. 

“No; nothing could make up for my fathers death,” 
answered Nancy, quickly ; “it almost broke my mothers 
heart, and she will never be the same woman any more.” 

“We all felt most acutely for her — nearly the whole 
regiment wore mourning, I think — and, but perhaps I 
should not tell you this now ; but I wrote twice to you in 
those sad days to try to express my sorrow and deep 
sympathy.” 

“Then I never got either letter ! I — I wondered you 
had not written. I thought you would.” 

“You never got the letters because they were never 
sent. I wrote them, and burnt them, for I could not ex- 
press in them what I felt.” 

A burning blush rose to Nancy’s cheeks at these words. 

“We are forgetting the pictures,” she said the next 
moment, a little nervously. “Look, this one is con- 
sidered very fine ; it is by Teniers.” 

They began therefore to talk of the pictures, and pres- 
ently Nancy took Major Erne across the entrance hall to 
show him another of the great rooms, and as they were 
in the very act of crossing it a little old bent woman, with 
a shrewd, sharp, wrinkled face, was being admitted into 
the hall by one of the footmen. 

This was Miss Gifford, of Gateford Manor House, the 
sister of the first lord, and grand-aunt to the present family, 
and she had arrived at Wrothsley on purpose to see the new 
grand-nephew and niece that she had heard so much 
scandal and gossip about. 

She therefore hobbled up to Nancy, tapping her silver- 
headed ebony stick on the marble floor of the hall, and 
without any ceremony addressed her. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


227 


“So, you’ll be the young lady, I suppose,” she said, 
grinning out her yellow false teeth, “ who was too sharp 
for my lady? Are you Gilmore’s wife, or whatever he is 
called now ? ” 

“ I am Hugh Gifford’s wife,” answered Nancy, smiling, 
who instantly understood that this would be the eccentric 
grand-aunt she had heard the children talk of. 

“Oh, that’s it, is it — and is this the other son?” she 
asked, pointing with her ebon-stick at Major Erne. 

“No, this is a friend of ours from India, but Gerard 
is in the house somewhere, if you would like to see him ? ” 

“I should like; they tell me he is a hunchback, and 
the babe my lady now declares did not die when she said 
it did was a hunchback too. I remember it well — a 
little, crook-backed, sickly, squalling brat, and I for one 
was thankful when I heard it was gone, but no one was 
so thankful as its father. But if this youngster whom 
my lady has brought forward is actually the same child, 
I shall know him in a moment. There is no mistaking a 
Gifford ; it’s ‘like father, like son ’ with them all.” 

“Well, if you’ll come into the morning-room, I’ll send 
for Gerard,” said Nancy. 

“All right, lead the way, and I’ll follow you. Pm 
always half lost in this great house that my brother, 
poor man, built in his folly ; but the Giffords are all 
self-willed.” 

“ You will excuse me for the present, Mrs. Gifford,” 
said Major Erne, smiling. 

Nancy gave a little nod, and smiled also, and then 
after sending a message to Gerard, she led the way to the 
morning-room, followed by Miss Gifford. 

“ And your husband is here, too, I suppose ? ” said the 
ancient dame, peering curiously at her face. 

“No, Hugh is in town ; he went a few days ago.” 

“And why did you not go with him ? Take my advice, 
young woman, never trust a Gifford out of your sight, 
for they’re a wild lot — root and branch, a wild, unstable 
lot.” 


228 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

GATEFORD MANOR HOUSE. 

Before Nancy could make any reply to Miss Gifford’s 
sweeping condemnation of the morals of her husband’s 
family, Gerard opened the room door and walked in. 

“One of those footmen fellows told me you wanted 
me, Nancy,” he said, “so I came at once.” 

“This is Miss Gifford, Gerard, and she wished to see 
you,” answered Nancy. 

Gerard made a somewhat awkward bow to the old lady, 
who was looking at him keenly with her bleared, though 
still shrewd eyes. 

“Come here young gentleman, and let me have a look 
at you nearer,” she said in her shrill, sharp voice; and 
as Gerard approached her, a sort of cry escaped her 
twitching lips. 

“Why it’s your father’s face! — aye, aye, no doubt 
whose son you are — Gilmore’s son, his eldest son, and all 
these years your mother has robbed you of your* birth- 
right.” 

“ But that’s all right now,” said Nancy soothingly. 

“How can it be all right?” asked the ancient dame, 
turning round on her sharply; “can the woman lying 
upstairs undo her sin and folly, d’ye think? Can she give 
this young man now what she has kept back from him — . 
the rearing, and good-breeding which ought to have been 
his? She always was a fool, and why Gilmore married 
her with her sallow skin and ugly face, I never could 
conceive, and so fond of handsome women as he was 
too ! ” 

“ I have inherited that good quality at all events,” said 
Gerard with an uneasy little laugh, for this old woman, 
with her weird face and bitter tongue, half frightened 
him. 

Miss Gifford nodded her head twice. 

“No doubt, no doubt,” she said; “all the Giffords 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


229 

make fools of themselves about women, and no doubt you 
will too — it’s in the blood.” 

“ I hope Gerard and my husband will be exceptions to 
the rule, then,” said Nancy smiling. 

“ Hum ! ” said Miss Gifford ; and it was an unbeliev- 
ing utterance ; and she looked at Nancy now, and nod- 
ded her head again, as much as to express very strong 
doubts on the subject. 

“ And how does he bear it — Hugh Gifford?” she asked 
the next moment, and both Gerard and Nancy cast down 
their eyes at this direct question. 

“Not very well, I suppose,” went on the shrewd old 
woman; “you’ve cost him a pretty penny, my young 
lady, for if he’d not married you, but someone that his 
mother thought good enough for him, she would have car- 
ried her secret to her grave. It was the blow to her pride 
and folly that did it, and I must say she has made Hugh Gif- 
ford pay full heavily for his liking for a good-looking face. ” 

“My mother could not object to Nancy ! what objec- 
tion could she make?” said Gerard quickly. 

“ Hum ! ” again said Miss Gifford doubtfully, and she 
looked from one to the other of the two young people 
before her. “Shall I tell you, young man, what her ob- 
jections were ? She wanted her son — her handsome son 
— of whom she made an idol and a fool, to marry some 
girl who came of high rank and long descent, for the devil 
himself does not equal her in pride ! But, luckily for you, 
Master Hugh had the family failing, and could not resist 
making love to a pretty face when he was near it.” 

Both Nancy and Gerard laughed at this, and the old 
lady also indulged in a grim chuckle. 

“And you will be getting married too, soon I suppose ? ” 
she went on, fixing her eyes on Gerard, who blushed 
beneath that searching gaze. “ My lady had you reared 
on the sea-coast somewhere, had she not, so are we to 
expect a yellow-haired mermaid, casting up to share the 
family honors ? ” 

Once more Gerard laughed, but both Miss Gifford and 
Nancy noticed he did not seem at ease. 

“I never saw a mermaid, unfortunately,” he answered. 

“But maybe you’ve seen a pretty fisher-lass ? ” went 
on the ruthless old woman, and a scarlet flush passed 
over Gerard’s face as he listened to these words. 

“Come, don’t be too hard on me, Miss Gifford,” he 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , , 


230 

said the next moment, trying- to speak carelessly. 
“Nancy, cannot you persuade Miss Gifford to stay to 
lunch? Its close on the time now.” 

“I hope you will stay/’ said Nancy, looking at their 
quaint visitor. 

-‘I don’t mind if I do/' she answered, and during the 
meal which followed she amused them all with her sar- 
castic comments on people and things ; and, as Major 
Erne was present, she happily made no more cutting per- 
sonal remarks, and indeed seemed quite to enjoy herself, 
frequently addressing Erne, and showing indeed that she 
was a woman of keen observation. And before she left, 
she actually invited them all to have luncheon with her 
the next day. 

“I’m an old woman, you know,” she said, looking at 
Erne, “and things are changed since I was young. I 
get my dinner in the middle of the day, and go to bed at 
nine, when I suppose you are just sitting down to yours ; 
but, all the same, I like to have young people around me 
occasionally, and I shall be pleased if you will come over 
to Gateford to see me ? ” 

“You are very good,” answered Erne, “but I am going 
to leave here to-morrow.” 

“No, you’re not,” said Gerard, hospitably ; “ we like to 
have you here, don’t we, Nancy, and we’re going to make 
you stay.” 

“You see you must stay,” smiled Nancy. 

“ Well, then, Miss Gifford, I shall be delighted to accept 
your invitation,” said Erne, and the old lady looked well 
pleased. 

“You remind me of someone I knew when I was 
young,” she said, and fixed her bleared eyes on the good- 
looking soldier’s face ; “ aye, aye, years pass on ! ” 

That many years had passed on over Miss Gifford’s 
head, there was no doubt. She admitted being over 
eighty, but always declined to tell the exact day of her 
birth. 

“What business is it of other people, when you were 
born,” she used to answer tartly, if any questions were 
made on the subject. “It’s enough, isn’t it, that they 
should know when you die, and if you’ve anything to leave, 
they are always glad enough to hear of th,at little event ; I 
hate idle curiosity.” 

But perhaps some recollection of her youth had made 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


231 

her more amiable, this day at Wrothsley, for she was 
certainly more agreeable than usual, and told both Gerard 
and Nancy that she liked them better than she had ex- 
pected to do. Gerard, on the contrary, after she was gone, 
declared she was the most dreadful old woman he had 
ever encountered. 

“She’s an awful old witch, Nancy, that’s the truth,” he 
said ; “ I really felt frightened of her, she looked as if she 
saw through one.” 

Both Erne and Nancy laughed aloud at this. 

“ My dear Gerard,” said Nancy, “do speak with re- 
spect of her, I implore you ; she’s most awfully rich, and 
the family ought therefore to pay her every respect ! ” 

“ I don’t care for her money a bit, I’m sure,” answered 
Gerard laughing too ; “ But Erne there is the man who’ll 
get it, my belief is ! I saw her casting her ancient eyes 
at him most lovingly.” 

“My dear fellow don’t raise my hopes,” said Erne; 
“fancy a penniless soldier coming in for such a piece of 
good luck as an ancient lady to become tender on him ! 
There is no such happiness for me.” 

Nevertheless, this little joke about Miss Gifford admir- 
ing Erne seemed to have the effect of making them all 
very merry, and Gerard again and again referred to it. 
Lady Gilmore also looked pleased when she heard of the 
invitation to Gateford Manor House, and the next morn- 
ing they started in very good spirits to return the old lady’s 
visit. 

It was a long drive, but the day was beautiful, and 
Erne had some difficulty in keeping those steely-gray eyes 
of his off Nancy’s charming face. Never had he seen her 
look so lovely, he thought, and once, unconsciously he 
sighed, upon which Gerard immediately declared that the 
near prospect of again beholding Miss Gifford had caused 
this display of hidden emotion, and Erne blushed through 
his brown skin at the careless, idle words. 

At last they reached the old house with the ivy-covered 
walls and moss-grown gateway. Everything, indeed, at 
the Manor House was time-worn' and gray, except the 
great elms around it, that had budded and leafed more 
than a hundred years, it was said, and were in their first 
freshness still. The butler who opened the door was 
past seventy, the youngest serving woman in the house 
over sixty, and the ancient dame who owned the place 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR, 


232 

looked more wrinkled, more weird than ever, as she step- 
ped forward in the sunshine to welcome her young guests. 

It was, indeed, a wonderful old-world spot, this : the 
furniture out of date, the silver on the table out of date, 
the old servitors, but Miss Gifford looked the oldest of 
them all, and was clad in garments she must have pos- 
sessed fifty or sixty years. She addressed Gerard by his 
title, though he had yet no actual right to assume it, and 
she treated him in all respects as the head of his father’s 
house. 

“Your grandfather, my brother Thomas, ” she said, 
addressing him, “lived here before he built Wrothsley, 
and made his fortune here, too, I can tell you. He was 
a shrewd old man, and had his head screwed straight on 
his shoulders, except for one folly ; but his descendants 
seem to have inherited his folly, and not his sense.” 

“ I don’t know why you should always pitch into me 
so, Miss Gifford ! ” said Gerard with a laugh.” 

“ Boy,” she answered, looking at him earnestly, “when 
I said that I could have sworn you were your father ! 
Aye,” she continued, “ many and many a time Gilmore 
has sat where you are sitting now ; he used to ride over 
to see me, for they knew I was worth courting, you 
know.” 

“I am sure I shall never court you,” said Gerard, 
bluntly. 

She did not seem to resent this, but sat a few moments 
mumbling and muttering to herself. Her mind had evi- 
dently wandered back to days long gone -by, and she 
looked so weird and witch-like that a sort of chill fell on 
the hearts of the young people around her. But, presently 
she roused herself, and began telling Erne of riots she 
remembered when she was a girl, and how the soldiers 
had been called out to protect the factories, and how the 
officers had been quartered at some of the owners’ houses. 

“There was just such another as you are — with eyes 
like yours — lived at my father’s over three weeks, and it 
seems like yesterday when I look at you.” 

So over this great bridge of time the old woman was 
looking back to the days of her youth ! Back, perhaps, to 
some dead romance, to some buried hopes. At all events, 
she seemed to take really quite a fancy to Major Erne, 
and showed him, after luncheon was over, some of her 
ancient treasures, and went hobbling along her narrow 


LAbY GILMORE'S TEMPTATlO. 


*33 

garden walks, between the clipped yew hedges and the 
prim borders filled with old-fashioned flowers and herbs. 

Then she took Nancy upstairs, and having unlocked a 
drawer, produced some really magnificent old lace. 

“It’s my marriage present to you/’ she said ; “ I go 
out nowhere now, so it’s no use to me, or I should not 
have been so ready to part with it.” 

‘‘But really I do not like to rob you of it, Miss Gifford,” 
said Nancy modestly. 

“I want neither false nor civil speeches, young lady,” 
returned this terrible old woman ; “ there put up your lace 
and be glad you have got it, for there is none such to be 
bought now-a-days.” 

So Nancy accepted the lace, and presently Miss Gifford 
began opening other locked drawers, bringing out ancient 
jewel and ring cases, which she examined, and then 
mostly put them back into their places, with some mut- 
tered comment. And while she was engaged doing 
this, she suddenly turned sharply round and addressed 
Nancy. 

“ That young man downstairs — Erne, d’ye call him — 
is he rich or poor ? ” 

“Very poor, I believe,” answered Nancy, remember- 
ing certain half-whispered confidences of lack of means 
in the old days in India, which had fallen from Erne’s lips. 

“I thought as much,” said Miss Gifford, nodding her 
head ; “ he’s got a sad eye — the eye of a man who has 
known disappointment and care — well, well, they come 
to all, rich or poor.” 

By this time she had apparently selected two very an- 
cient-looking ring cases, and carried these with her down- 
stairs, in' her yellow, claw-like hand. 

The two young men were smoking cigarettes in the 
garden outside, but Miss Gifford speedily beckoned them 
inside ; and when they entered the room, she opened one 
of the ring cases and hobbled up to Gerard. 

“There,” she said, “that’s my present to you, for my 
brother Thomas, your grandfather, gave it to me on the 
day they made him a barpnet, and it cost a mint of money, 
he said, for Thomas was always given to boast of what 
he paid for things. But they are good stones, so you 
needn’t be ashamed to wear it.” 

It was a valuable old-fashioned diamond ring, and as 
Gerard was thanking her for it, she turned to Erne. 


234 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR , 


“And you, young gentleman/’ she said, “you must 
have something also to remind you of your visit to an 
old woman. I’ve picked out a diamond ring for you too, 
and if you don’t like it, you can give it to your sweetheart 

“ But unfortunately I have no sweetheart, Miss Gifford,” 
answered Erne. 

“Then you’ve had one, I warrant ye! Some loving 
lass’s heart has beat the faster when she looked on your 
face. ” 

For a moment as the old lady said these words, Erne 
looked at Nancy, and she was conscious that she blushed 
as she met his gray eyes. 

“I have not been so happy as you think,” said Erne, 
now looking down. 

“Well, take the ring anyhow,” went on Miss Gifford, 

“ I used to wear it when I was young.” 

It was a magnificent ring, oval in shape, with a splen- 
did diamond in the centre surrounded by smaller stones. 

“ No, really Miss Gifford, this is too beautiful, too valu- 
able for me,” said Erne, “ if you will give me some small 
thing to remind me of this pleasant visit, I shall accept it, 
though, indeed, I shall need nothing to remind me.” 

“ I neither give sham nor shabby things,” she answer- 
ed, “there, put it in your pocket or on your finger, and 
if you like to come to see me again, you’re welcome.” 

Then Erne bent down his handsome head, and kissed 
her wrinkled hand. 

“ I shall always keep it,” he said, in his graceful cour- 
teous way, “I shall always remember this pleasant visit 
to Gateford Manor House, and your great kindness.” 

Miss Gifford was not unmoved ; her lips began to twitch, 
and she muttered something they could not hear. But 
suddenly she roused herself. 

“ It’s getting late,” she said, “and I want my afternoon 
nap, for elderly people require a great deal of sleep, and 
seeing you young folks has brought old days back to me 
— I feel a little tired.” 

Upon this hint, Gerard at once ordered the carriage, and 
the old lady stood at the window smiling and nodding at 
them until they drove away. 

“Well, I will never forget that!” cried Gerard, the 
moment they were out of hearing. “Erne, allow me to 
congratulate you, when are you going to make the old 
witch happy? ” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


*35 

“I felt sorry for her, do you know,” answered Erne, 
and there was a certain ring in his voice which Nancy 
heard, “ I fancy I reminded her of someone she must 
have cared for in her youth.” 

“ It’s all very fine talking in that sentimental way,” 
laughed Gerard, “ she gave you an engagement ring, and 
Nancy and I are witnesses of it, and there’s no escape, 
for you, my dear boy ! In a short time you will be my 
great-uncle.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

IN THE MOONLIGHT. 

It must not be supposed that during this time Gerard 
had forgotten his “little girl by the sea,” as poor May 
Sumners had called herself. He had in truth written to 
her several times, but as he told her it was impossible 
for him to leave Wrothsley just then, as for one thing he 
did not know when he would be called to town, regard- 
ing his taking up the title, and for another thing he was 
conscious that all his movements would now be regarded 
with jealous eyes. 

Little by little it had dawned upon him that May was 
no fit mate for him, and that the strongest opposition 
would no doubt be offered to such a marriage by his 
mother. He was afraid in fact to move in the matter at 
all, until his own position was absolutely settled; and 
when his foster-mother, Mrs. Brewster, had once warn- 
ingly and timidly approached the subject, he had treated 
it as a jest. 

“ It would never do you know;, my dear,” she said; 
“ my lady would never forgive you.” 

“ No,” laughed Gerard, “ it would never do ; don’t you 
trouble your head about it, dear old woman.” 

But though he spoke thus carelessly, he was certainly 
fond of his “little May,” and often wished that her posi- 
tion had been more suitable to his own. In the mean- 
time the poor girl was living on hope, and while Gerard 
was amusing himself as best he could in the present, she 
was thinking and planning always of the coming days. 

And things went on thus for a few weeks, and Nancy 


236 a BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 

continued to live at Wrothsley, by her husband's wish, 
though he declined to go near the place. 

“ I shall run down and see you and my mother as soon 
as the coast is clear,” he wrote to Nancy ; “ but I cannot 
endure the risk of again encountering the low-bred cad, 
whom I suppose I shall soon be compelled to call my 
brother. When things are settled we had better take a 
small house in town, but at present, as I do not know the 
exact amount of my future income, I think this would be 
unwise, especially as my mother appears to like to have 
you with her. The priest, I am told, is pushing on the 
cad's claims with great vigor, but from what I saw of 
him I fancy he will not be a very obedient son of the 
Catholic Church. Sometimes I -cannot help thinking it's all 
a dream yet, but every one knows about it now, and the 
lawyers tell me that before the season is over, the new 
Lord Gilmore will bepermitted to take his seat among 
his peers ! Fancy that fellow — truly my mother has a 
good deal to answer for,” and so on. 

But though Hugh Gifford wrote thus bitterly, his words 
were gentle in comparison to his thoughts. After he re- 
turned to town, the cut on his forehead which had been 
inflicted by Gerard, gave him considerable pain, and even 
when it healed it left an ugly mark, which was an eye- 
sore ever rankling in his soul. 

He kept his promise and went to see Alice Ferrars very 
shortly after his arrival, and her passionate indignation 
against Gerard, her eager and unreasonable partisanship 
of his own claims, pleased him more than what he con- 
sidered Nancy's lukewarm sympathy. This woman 
loved him better than the other, he told himself, though 
that other had cost him so dear. It irritated him also, to 
hear of the visit to Gateford Manor House ; to know that 
Nancy was on friendly terms with the man who had in- 
jured him so terribly, and he forgot that he absolutely 
threw her into this intimacy, by leaving her at his mother’s 
house. 

And when he told Alice who had disfigured his hand- 
some brow, this excitable loving creature gave a cry of 
horror. 

“The wretch! the wretch ! he deserves to die,” she 
exclaimed. 

“I wish he was dead,” answered Hugh Gifford, gloomily. 

And the woman to whom he spoke these words, gazed 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


237 

at him with a new light in her great and beautiful dark 
eyes. 

“ In my country, ” she said after a moment's pause, with 
a certain intensity of expression that reminded him of the 
days of her lovely girlhood, when he had wooed her be- 
neath the orange groves, in the shining moonlight of her 
native land, and when she had ofttimes whispered she 
would give her life for his, in these impassioned hours ; 
“ in my country,” she repeated, “ there is such a thing as 
vengeance ! The Spaniard kills the man who has 
wronged him ; they two cannot breathe the same air.” 

“ I wish I were in Spain then,” said Gifford darkly, “for 
I hate him. ” 

“ Gilmore, he may die,” said Alice rising and laying 
her hand on his shoulder. 

“ Don't call me Gilmore,” he answered almost roughly; 
“ now, when I know who will soon bear that name — who 
will soon disgrace it.” 

“He may not disgrace it long,” said the dark-eyed 
woman significantly. 

Hugh Gifford madeno reply; he sat there silent andsul- 
len, broodings over his wrongs, and a dark and horrible 
temptation at this moment entered his mind. Yes, this 
low-bred cur who had struck him, might die — might die a 
swift and secret death, and no one need know who dealt 
the blow. Grim stories of murders, and bloody deeds, 
witnessed only by the black clouds of night, or the turbid 
waters of some lonesome stream, crowded across his 
brain, and seemed to point the way to rid him of his foe. 
He left Alice Ferrars' house abruptly, but the woman, with 
the warm Southern blood in her veins, saw that her words 
had not fallen to the ground. 

“He will come back to me ! ” she cried passionately, 
and aloud, after he was gone ; “he will come back to me 
for help ; the cold English girl he has married would not 
risk her life for his — but I will, a thousand, thousand 
times — I will die for him, if he will but love~ me again ! ” 

And, during the days that followed, the haunting fiend 
that had whispered the black suggestion in the ears of the 
sullen, angry man, dogged his footsteps with a strange 
persistency. Hugh Gifford found himself reading the 
records of hidden crimes, dwelling on foul details, of how 
unsuspecting victims were trapped to their deaths, and 


238 A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, \ OR, 

lured by false smiles and wiles to their secret dooms. All 
his nature grew changed, and he who had carried himself 
so gayly and carelessly in the world, grew gloomy, taciturn 
and reserved. 

The men at his clubs laughed, and said Gilmore bore 
his come-down badly, and it crept out that the elder brother, 
had cut his forehead with a wine-glass, and that there was 
ill-blood between them. Only the stricken mother lying at 
Wrothsley did not know % this, for both Nancy and Gerard, 
had done all they could to keep it from her ears. If Lady 
Gilmore inquired for “Hugh,” Nancy always had some 
ready excuse. There was so much to arrange, she said ; 
Hugh was coming down to see them shortly. 

And so time passed on, until the day came when Gerard 
and his once reputed mother, Mrs. Brewster, were sum- 
moned to town, to give evidence before the Lords’ Com- 
mittee. Lady Gilmore’s deposition was again read over 
before her, in the presence of two magistrates, and Mr. 
Stafford, and was signed by her cramped fingers ; the 
doctors’ giving evidence as to the state of her health, and 
also of the perfect sanity of her mind. There was great, 
though suppressed excitement at Wrothsley during these 
days, and Nancy’s heart was often full of anxiety ; and 
when Gerard and Mrs. Brewster left the Castle, and started 
for town, accompanied by Father Hayward, it was known 
that the crisis was near. 

It came and passed, after some little delay ; after a most 
searching and most exhaustive inquiry, the Lords’ Com- 
mittee decided in favor of Gerard’s claims, considering it 
satisfactorily proved that Gerard was the late Lord Gil- 
mores eldest and legitimate son, and that he was there- 
fore justly entitled to bear his father’s title, inherit his 
property, and take his seat as a peer of the realm, in the 
House of Lords. 

Both Hugh Gifford and the new Lord Gilmore telegraphed 
the news to Nancy, and with a strange fluttering at her 
heart, a feeling half of disappointment, half of relief, that 
it was now settled, Nancy carried the tidings to the stricken 
woman whose folly had caused it all. 

Lady Gilmore listened in silence, but her lips quivered, 
and presently tears gathered in her sunken dark eyes, and 
rolled heavily down her cheeks. 

“ Poor — Hugh — ” she murmured after a little pause, 
and her thoughts were evidently full of the best loved one, 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPT A TIOM. 239 

“ We must all try to make it — up to him,” she muttered 
presently in her inarticulate speech ; “ I — will leave him 
everything I have — and Miss Gifford ’’ 

“ Dear Lady Gilmore,” said Nancy, kindly taking her 
hand, “ we shall be all right, Hugh and I, after he gets a 
little used to his new position. Gerard — or I suppose I 
must call him Gilmore now,” she added with a smile, “ is 
so kind, so nice, that I expect we shall soon all be quite 
happy together. Only you must get well you know, and 
that will please Hugh so much, and Gerard too.” 

A wistful look stole into the poor sick lady’s eyes, as 
they rested on Nancy’s sweet face. 

“ You must be the bond between us — my daughter,” 
she said presently, and from that hour Nancy took a 
daughter’s place, and Lady Gilmore was never quite happy 
if she were long out of her sight. 

And the same day Nancy wrote to her husband, and 
tried to tell him in tender words how much she sympa- 
thized with him, but how she hoped that the strange 
event that had happened, would not darken their future 
lives. She told him too, that she trusted he would now 
learn to like his brother, whose early career had been 
marred by no fault of his. But these gentle phrases, this 
endeavor to soften his anger, only increased the hatred in 
Hugh Gifford’s heart to the man who had supplanted him. 
He flung Nancy’s letter with a curse upon the floor after 
he had read it, and speedily found his way to the house 
where he was sure to find a warm echo to his own angry 
and passionate expressions. 

And as Alice Ferrars listened ; when she understood, 
that the inquiry into Gerard’s claims was decided in his 
favor, and that he who now stood before her was no 
longer Lord Gilmore ; no longer bore the name which 
had been as sweetest music in her young ears, she suddenly 
flung herself down on her knees before him, and passion- 
ately kissed his hand. 

‘‘What matter! ” she cried in a voice broken with 
heartfelt emotion, “they may take your lands and your 
name, but you are the same — always the same to me ! 
The dark clouds have gathered, my beloved, the storm is 
near, but they bring thee but nearer to my heart ! ” 

“You are an exception to thegeneral rule then, Alice,” 
answered Hugh Gifford, half-bitterly, half-tenderly ; “the 
dark clouds and the storm, as you poetically put it, 


240 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


have already made a considerable difference in the way 
in which I am estimated by those around me.” 

“ She made him some impassioned answer ; she flung at 
his feet all the deep sympathy, the burning indignation 
that his soul hungered for, and when he remembered the 
words his young wife had written, the excuses she had 
made for the brother who had so grievously wronged him, 
his heart hardened towards her, and the good that had 
once dwelt within him, was paled and overshadowed by 
a dark temptation. 

And the new Lord Gilmore? The young man also 
suddenly assailed by many temptations ; flung with the 
knowledge of a school-boy unfettered into the great world, 
how was he about to stand the ordeal? 

He had never been in town before, and the youth reared 
on the wild Northern Coast, reared so unfittingly for the 
position he was now called upon to hold, at first was 
dazzled and excited to such a degree, that Father Hayward, 
who tried to keep some control over him, entreated him 
(but vainly) at once to return to Wrothsley. 

But no — Gerard, or as we must now call him, Gilmore 
— was determined to have his fling. He laughed good 
naturedly at the good father’s advice and admonition ; 
and indeed made the priest plainly understand he would 
rather be left alone. He in truth wanted to be rid of his 
presence, and he sent Mrs. Brewster back to Wrothsley, 
and after awhile Father Hayward was also obliged for a 
time to return to his duties, and Gerard — the old name 
slips out still — was thus left free control for the present 
over his own actions. 

And after a little while he wrote to May Sumners at 
Scarley ; wrote to tell her that he was now Lord Gilmore, 
and that he was anxious to see her, and would go down 
to the Northern Coast to meet her, but that this meeting 
must be a secret one, and that for the present all cor- 
respondence that took place between them must be secret 
too. 

“Living out of the world, my dear May,” he wrote to 
this simple country maiden, “you naturally do not 
understand how strong the prejudices of class are, and 
though I love you dearly, I dare not rush in the face of 
all the opposition and bother that would be poured down 
on my unfortunate head, were it known that I carried oi} 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


241 


my acquaintance with you. We must be forced, therefore, 
my pretty sweetheart, for the present, to keep all our love- 
making to ourselves, and I wish particularly to see you, 
because I have got something to say to you ; something 
to ask you, to which I most earnestly hope you will give 
your consent. 

“Now, if I were to make my appearance openly at 
Scarley, you know all the gossip and scandal that would 
immediately take place. So I cannot do this, but if you 
will meet me some night I will manage to keep the appoint- 
ment without anyone but ourselves being the wiser. But 
mind, dear May, you must not say one word to the old 
man about this. If you did you would make it impossible 
for me to see you at all. What I have to say to you is a 
secret, and it must be kept a secret and told, too, in secret ! 
There — isn’t that mysterious, little sweetheart ? But, all 
the same it is quite true, and the future rests with yourself. 
Any night, about ten o’clock, next week, I can meet you 
at our old trysting-place, by the big rock on the sands, if 
you will let me know what night you can be there. To 
name an earlier hour would just be to court observation ; 
by that time all ‘early to bed and early to rise’ good 
people will have retired to roost, and we shall have the 
sands and the sea to ourselves. Good-bye, pretty sweet- 
heart, and be sure you write when you get this, to-morrow 
— Your loving and affectionate, 

“Gerard.” 

This letter threw the tender loving girl to whom it was 
addressed into a state ol extreme agitation, uncertainty 
and distress. She was not blind enough not to see that 
the change in Gerard’s state had changed his heart. 
When he had left her, he had declared that he despised 
distinctions in rank, and had declared, also, that they 
should not in the least influence him. Now he openly 
admitted they did, and this secret meeting, this secret to 
be told only in the darkness, what could it mean ? 

Yet May had not strength of mind enough to resist her 
lover’s request. Perhaps the change in Gerard’s fortunes 
subtly influenced her also, for who can answer for the 
strange windings of the human heart? At all events she 
agreed to meet Gerard on a certain night at their old 
tryst-place on the sands : agreed to deceive the father, 
who loved her dearly, and to steal out in the darkness 


242 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


to listen to words, that Gerard plainly told her could not 
be spoken by the light of day. 

And she went to keep her tryst in the shining moonlight, 
for as she passed down the still village, where her light 
footfall was the only sound, save from below the murmur 
of the sea, the moon which had been hidden by a dark 
bank of clouds, suddenly emerged, and fell on the girl’s 
pale face, as she hurried on. 

She looked up, drew the shawl wrapped round her head 
closer, and then with beating heart descended to the 
sands. By this time there was a shining track of light 
upon the sea, and the great rocks where the brown sea- 
weed clung were all lit by the silver beams. And as May 
walked on, a shadow fell athwart her path ; the shadow 
cast before by the gleaming moonlight of the lover who 
was impatiently awaiting her. 

“May! ” 

“ Gerard ! ” were the only words spoken as these two 
first met with clasped hands, and then Gerard drew the 
girl behind the shelter of a rock. 

“We didn’t count on all this moonlight, did we?” he 
whispered. 

“ No, it came out so suddenly,” she answered in a low 
voice. 

“ To punish us for being so naughty as to meet at this 
time anight, I suppose,” said Gerard, with a little laugh. 
“ Well, May, my dear, let us come to business at once. 

I asked you to meet me here because I have something 
very particular to say to you.” 

“ What is it, Gerard ? ” 

“ It is this, my little sweetheart : I am quite ready and 
willing to keep the promise I made to you before I left 
here, but only conditionally. I mean I am willing to 
marry you, May, if you will swear never to tell that we 
are married to a human soul, until I give you leave. ” 

May was silent for a moment ; then a few broken 
words escaped her quivering lips. 

“Not to my father, even, Gerard?” 

“Certainly not to your father; to no one, or it is 
impossible that we can be married.” 

“Oh, Gerard, don’t be so hard ! ” prayed the girl. 

“ I must be, May,” said Gerard, firmly ; “If we marry 
we must marry in secret, and no one must know that we 
are married.” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


24 3 

“But what will my father think? — I don’t care for 
anyone else but the poor old man ! ” 

“Well, my dear, you must choose between the poor 
old man, as you call him, and me ! Now I am quite in 
earnest, May — if you love me well enough to make this 
sacrifice for me, I love you well enough to make a 
considerable sacrifice on my part. But only on these 
terms : no one must know we are married, no one must 
be told.” 

She pleaded again and again, that she might tell her 
father, but Gerard would not listen, and at last her head 
fell upon his breast. 

“ I cannot bear to part with you ! ” she cried in a voice 
broken with sobs. “ But Gerard — if I trust you — you 
will keep your word — you will marry me ? ” 

“I swear I will,” he answered, and as he spoke, the 
moonlight suddenly faded, and a few minutes later the 
two parted in the darkness by the sullen moaning sea. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE OLD MAN’S CURSE. 

A week after this secret meeting by the sea, the inhabit- 
ants of Scarley were one morning astonished and startled 
to see John Sumners, the boat-builder, running bare- 
headed down the village, inquiring of everyone he met 
if they had seen anything of his girl. 

John had risen as usual at six o’clock, and without 
rousing his daughter, as was his custom, had gone to the 
work-yard, only returning to the house at eight o’clock, 
when he expected his breakfast would be ready for him. 
May was a most attentive daughter, and it was rarely that 
the old man did not find everything prepared for his well- 
earned refreshment. But on this particular morning, when 
John Sumners entered the kitchen where he thought to 
find the meal spread and the fire burning brightly, to his 
great surprise, though not at first alarm, he saw the grate 
was black and cold, and that there were no preparations 
whatever for breakfast. 

He at once supposed that May had overslept herself, 
and went upstairs and rapped at her bedroom door. But 


244 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


there was no reply, and now, becoming 1 really alarmed, 
he opened the bedroom door and looked in, only to 
find the room was empty. 

John stood and stared around him like a man who 
could not believe the evidence of his own senses. The 
bed had not been slept in since it was made, and there 
were some signs of disorder and haste, but still nothing 
very remarkable in the appearance of the room. But 
May was not there, and with a sort of inarticulate cry, 
the old man ran out bare-headed into the village, and 
stopped everyone he met to inquire if they had seen her. 

“Ha’ ye seen aught o’ my lass?” he asked with 
trembling lips, starting eyes and a sinking heart. But 
no one had seen her, and presently some of his gossips 
gathered around him, questioning him about May’s disap- 
pearance, and offering him the rough, though kindly, 
sympathy of which he so greatly stood in need. 

“ When didst thou see her last, John ? ” asked one old 
weather-beaten crone. 

“Last night at nine o’clock,” he answered hoarsely; 
“ we had our bit supper, and then, dear lass,” and here 
his voice broke, “she kissed me and went to bed.” 

“ Ha’ she been in bed then ? ” asked the woman. 

“No, it didn’t look like it,” John was forced to admit, 
and the gossips around shook their heads. 

“Maybe she’s off with the hump-backed chap they say 
is a grand lord now,” said one rough fellow who had 
been listening, taking his pipe out of his mouth to make 
the suggestion. 

But in a moment John Sumners turned upon him with 
a face white with rage. 

“Thou foul-tongued villain! say that again and I’ll 
knock thee to the ground ! ” he shouted, and the man 
quailed before his angry eyes. 

“Nay, John, John, he meant no harm ! ” cried the wo- 
men. “But where can the poor lass be?” they asked. 
“Shesurely canna’ ha’ fallen o’er the cliff, sleep-walking, 
like Bob Johnson’s girl did twenty years ago ? ” said one. 
“ Or gone dement and made away wi’ hersel’ ? ” suggested 
another. “That’s more like it,” calmly hinted a third. 

A weird chorus indeed was now sung around John 
Sumners’ dazed ears, and every old woman had some- 
thing terrible to relate. One remembered a girl setting 
herself on fire, and rushing down madly to the sea, and 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


245 

dying- there in desperate pain. A second had a dismal 
tale of a poor lass murdered by a jealous lover, whose 
dead body was found the next morning hidden in a cave. 
John listened and looked from one to the other, with 
whitening lip and haggard eyes ; and then suddenly 
breaking loose from them he started off alone along the 
cliffs in search for his girl. 

All that day he wandered, and all that night, taking no 
sleep, and the whole of the villagers were ready to help 
in his search. At last some of them went to the nearest 
railway station, but could get no reliable information 
there. Several women had left in the night train for the 
South, but if May Sumners had done so, no one seemed to 
have noticed her. And if she had gone she had taken 
nothing with her except the clothes she must have worn. 
Some of the women when John was out of the house, 
crept in and up to May's room, curious to find out what 
she had left behind. All her dresses were there they 
thought but one, and her last new hat and jacket had also 
disappeared. 

It began to be whispered about, therefore, that May 
had run away, though no one dared exactly tell her father 
this ; and naturally enough also, Gerald Brewster’s name 
began to be coupled with hers. They were known to 
have been sweethearts, and the great change in Gerard’s 
fortunes was also known, and these rough people began 
to say that maybe May had preferred gilded shame to 
honest poverty, " and that the old man was wasting his 
time vainly in seeking for her. 

Some hint of this at last reached John’s ears, and when 
he understood it, he lifted up his hand and cursed his 
daughter if it were true. And the same day he returned 
to his work a broken-hearted man and aged ; and when 
any one mentioned May to him he sternly bade them to 
be silent. He went on in this fashion nearly a month, 
and then suddenly he also disappeared from Scarley ; and 
when the villagers awoke up one morning they discovered 
John Sumners’ house and workyard locked and closed, 
and found that the old man had gone away without a 
word. 

He had gone away in silence to seek his daughter in 
London, having a sort of vague belief that if she had 
really run away with the young man he had known as 
Gerard Brewster, that he would most likely find her there, 


2 4 6 A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 

And the next few days found him wandering- about the 
crowded streets of the vast city, apparently without any 
knowledge to guide his movements. 

But John Sumners was a shrewd man, and by dint of 
inquiries he soon learned the parts of the town that a rich 
young man would be most likely to frequent. The season 
was almost over by this time, and for some reason or 
other, John took it into his head to walk up and down 
Piccadilly, and sometimes went into the park, examining 
every carriage that passed him as he did so. 

And at last his patience was rewarded. One afternoon 
he was proceeding on his usual route, when a hansom 
pulled up in Piccadilly, just a few paces before him, and 
a young man jumped out, and began ringing at a certain 
door. In a moment John Sumners recognized this young 
man, the peculiarity of his figure making him quite sure 
he was not mistaken. The door was opened by a man- 
servant before Sumners could reach it, and then the young 
man ran into the house, after calling to the cabman to 
wait for him. 

There were one or two loiterers standing about and 
John Sumners at once addressed one of these. 

“ Can you tell me the name of that gentleman who 
went into that house?” he asked. 

“Do you mean the man with the hump-back ?” an- 
swered one of the idlers. “ That’s Lord Gilmore, and 
there’s a wonderful story about the way he has succeeded 
to the title ; they say his brother ” 

But John had heard enough, and the next moment he 
rang the bell of the house door, which he had seen Lord 
Gilmore enter, and when it was opened he asked to see 
him. 

“ I want to see Lord Gilmore,” he said. 

The man-servant eyed his rough garments and general 
bearing superciliously. 

“ I don’t think you can see his lordship,” he answered. 

“ I must see him,” said John positively ; and the man 
was just considering what he should do, when the new 
Lord Gilmore himself came quickly down the stairs of the 
house, for he had in truth returned to his rooms for some- 
thing he had forgotten, and a moment or two later he 
found himself face to face with the old man he remem- 
bered since his boyhood. 

He gave a little start, and his face flushed deeply, but 
he recovered himself almost instantly. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPT A TIOM. 


24 7 

** Mr. Sumners! can it really be you in town?” he 
said, and he held out his hand, but John Sumners did not 
take it. 

“ I want a word or two with you,” he said roughly 
enough. 

“To be sure,” answered the new lord; “I am in a 
hurry, but come along upstairs, Mr. Sumners — one doesn’t 
meet an old friend like you every day.” 

So John Sumners followed Lord Gilmore up to the 
luxuriously furnished bachelor apartments, which he pre- 
ferred to inhabit when in town to the family mansion in 
Eaton Square. No one indeed ever went near the family 
mansion now, for Hugh Gifford also declined to stay 
there, and the house had been closed during the whole 
season. 

“ This is my den,” said Gilmore, when they reached 
his rooms, for as Gerard had now formally assumed the 
title, we must in future give him the name he rightfully 
bore in the world, and drop the old familiar one. 

“And how do you like London, Mr. Sumners?” he 
added, glancing rather uneasily at the rugged features of 
the old man before him. 

“ I neither came here for likes nor dislikes,” answered 
John Sumners, in his deep voice, fixing his eyes sternly 
on the young man’s changing face; “ I came to look for 
my girl — Gerard Brewster,” he went on, “for that’s the 
name I’ve known ye by all yer life, whatever new fangled 
ones ye may call yerself by now. I’ve come to ask ye 
one question — do ye know aught of my girl ? ” 

“ I? ” said Gilmore, but his eyes flickered and fell before 
the old man’s steady blue ones. “How should I know 
anything of her? I hope nothing has happened to my 
old friend, May ? ” 

“This has happened!” answered Sumners, loudly, 
striking his hand heavily on one of the inlaid tables near 
him. “The girl has disappeared — went out from her 
father’s house in the night and the darkness, the Lord 
Himself only knows where to. Had you aught to do 
with this, Gerard Brewster ? The folks down there say 
ye had, and if so, ye shall ha’ to answer for any wrong 
ye have done the girl to me ? ” 

“ I have done her no wrong ; I swear I have not,” said 
Gilmore. “ Why should May’s disappearance be laid to 
my charge ? I am very sorry you are in such trouble. 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 


248 

Mr. Sumners, and I most earnestly hope May is all right, 
and I’ve no doubt she is.” 

“ How can ye ha’ no doubt ? ” retorted Sumners, fiercely. 
“ I tell ye the girl is gone, and if ye ha* no doubt she's 
right and well, it seems to me ye must ken where to find 
her. Where is my lass, Gerard Brewster ? Tell me, or I 
shall strike ye dead ! ” 

For a moment Gilmore's face paled, but the next he 
answered the old man’s furious words quite calmly : 

“This is really most extraordinary and unreasonable 
conduct, Mr. Sumners,” he said, “ you tell me your 
daughter has disappeared from her home, but why I 
should be connected with her disappearance is more than 
I can conceive.” 

“ Smooth words won’t put me off,” said Sumners, 
sullenly; “ye and the girl were sweethearts, folks said, 
and maybe now when ye've got a grand name, ye thought 
she wasn't good enough to be yer wife, but only yer light- 
o’-love ? ” 

“This is folly,” said Gilmore, impatiently, but his face 
flushed. 

“Folly it may be to ye, but life and death to me,” 
retorted John Sumners, his brown face, too, flushing 
darkly with the strong emotion of his heart. “She was 
all I had — the motherless lass, that made the bit sunshine 
of my home. If ye have wronged her, my curse will 
follow ye, and ye’ll come to a black and bloody end.” 

“ Really, Mr. Sumners — ” 

“Aye, and d’ye think because ye now set up for a grand 
gentleman, and I am but a poor laboring common man, 
that I ha’ na right to look after my child’s gude name ! 
Look here, Gerard Brewster — if ye ken where the lass is, 
and if ye wull wed her rightly, I’ll swear I'll never come 
nigh ye both. Ye’ll ha’ no need to be ashamed o’ yer 
wife’s father, for I’ll never set eyes on her again. And 
I've saved a bit money — a good bit — and it shall be all 
hers, and she shall want for naught. That’s not an offer 
I’d make to many, but the poor lass liked ye, and it’s a 
base, unmanly thing to do her wrong.” 

For a moment Gilmore hesitated as he listened to these 
words, but before he could speak, a rap came to the room 
door, and the next instant it opened and a young man’s 
head appeared. 

“ Ah, Gilmore ! ” said this new-comer, “ I saw your cab, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION 


249 

and they said you were in, so I thought I’d look you up 
— but I hope I am not in the way? ” he added, as his eyes 
fell on John Sumners’ rugged, weather-beaten face. 

“Not in the least, answered Gilmore with alacrity and 
a feeling of relief. “Come in, Whitmore, and have a 
brandy and soda, and perhaps Mr. Sumners here will join 
us ? ” 

But John Sumners shook his head. 

“ Will ye think over what I have said? ” he asked, once 
more addressing Gilmore. 

“ Certainly, but I fear I can be of no use to you — I am 
sorry I have no information to give you,” answered 
Gilmore, but again John noticed he did not look him in 
the face. 

“ I’ll find out if thou hast, anyhow,” he said gloomily, 
and then without another word John Sumners strode away 
with his heavy tread, and the two young men were alone. 

“My dear fellow,” said Mr. Whitmore, who was a good- 
looking impecunious young gentleman, who had a talent 
for discovering those whom fickle fortune favored, and 
had picked up Gilmore’s acquaintance since he had come 
into the title, and his romantic story was known ; “if it 
is not an impertinent question, may I ask who the marine- 
looking gentleman is who has just left? ” 

“ He’s an old fellow I used to know in the country , v 
answered Gilmore, with an uneasy laugh. “ All the 
same,” he added, “ when you come to us down the river 
you need not mention that you saw him here.” 

Mr. Whitmore nodded his head twice. 

“I understand,” he said; “paterfamilias, I suppose. 

Again Gilmore gave that uneasy laugh, and presently 
the young men went out together, and as they got into 
the cab outside Whitmore had a word to whisper into Gil- 
more’s ear. 

“There is paterfamilias again,” he said. “Isay, my 
dear fellow, he’s following us ; you had best take care 
where you go.” 

And all that day John Sumners watched the house he 
had seen Gilmore enter and leave, and all the next, but he 
never saw him. At last he grew weary and rang the 
bell, and inquired for Lord Gilmore, but was told he was 
out of town. 

“When did he go?” asked John, hoarsely. “Where 
has he gone ? ” 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


250 

The man-servant belonging to the establishment replied 
civilly enough. 

“ His lordship left yesterday, but I cannot tell you 
where he went ; abroad, I suppose, most of em go abroad 
at this time of year. ” 

Then John turned away, with a muttered curse on 
his lips. 

“ He knows where the poor lass is hidden away,” he 
thought, savagely ; “may the Lord reward him accord- 
ing to his due.” 

He stayed a few days longer in town, and then, dis- 
heartened and weary, he went away, and returned to 
Scarley, as silently as he had left ; sternly refusing to make 
any explanation of his long absence. 

“I went on my own business and no one has aught to 
do with it,” he said ; and his neighbors understood that he 
had gone to seek his daughter, and that his search had 
been in vain. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 
miss gifford’s warning. 

The summer faded into autumn, and golden hues stole 
over the leaves of the great trees in Wrothsley Park, and 
the days grew shorter and shorter, and the air sharper and 
sharper, and in the fields the yellow stubble told of the 
garnered grain. A beautiful season this, full of a strange 
sweetness of its own, a ripe fulness, in which a touch of 
sadness mingles, as the breeze stirs the brown waving 
grasses, or whispers through the fading ferns. 

A beautiful season — a beautiful day — and yet a young 
wife’s heart was sad within her as she paced alone along 
the green glades of Wrothsley, or looked wistfully up at 
the bright blue sky. Not yet married a year, Nancy still 
knew that her husband’s heart was changed to her, and 
that an abiding shadow had come between their lives. 

Hugh Gifford was in Scotland, and yet he had not asked 
Nancy to accompany him there. He had been down to 
Wrothsley once or twice, as the summer waned, taking 
very good care to find out first that his elder brother was 
out of the way. In fact the brothers had never spoken to 
each other since the unfortunate quarrel when the elder 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPT A T/OM 


*51 

had flung the wine glass at the younger s face, and but 
for the sake of his mother, Hugh would not again have 
entered the house which so bitterly reminded him of the 
past. 

The new Lord Gilmore also did not go much to Wroths- 
ley now. He had bought a place down the Thames, and 
had a steam yacht, and entertained a good deal of some- 
what dubious company, and drank a good deal also, it 
was said. He was, however, always most kind and 
friendly to Nancy, and seldom came to Wrothsley without 
bringing her some present or other, and he was also very 
good to his mother. 

But Lady Gilmore, who was better now, and able to 
move a little about the house, saw only too plainly, that 
the folly of her youth had sown bitter enmity between 
her sons. They never spoke of this to her, and she never 
spoke of it, but it lay like a black cloud over her heart, 
ever darkly foreshadowing some coming ill. 

Thus it was not a bright household in which Nancy 
spent the summer and autumn days. Lady Gilmore 
declined to receive any company, and Nancy’s only ac- 
quaintances in the neighborhood were Lady Blenkensop, 
and old Miss Gifford, at Gateford Manor House. Major 
Erne had now accepted an appointment for two years on 
General Sir Charles Blenkensop’s staff, and Nancy was 
always glad to meet her old friend when she went to visit 
Lady Blenkensop. But for days and even weeks together 
she saw no one but Lady Gilmore, the children, and their 
governess, Miss Pennythorne. She used to walk out often 
with Miss Pennythorne, but this poor lady’s sorrowful ex- 
periences of life made her but a sad companion to a young 
creature like Nancy, who was naturally of a lively and 
even joyous nature. 

With languid steps, therefore, and an oppressed heart, 
Nancy was walking alone on this bright September day, 
thinking vaguely of many things, and sighing softly as 
she thought. It was so beautiful here beneath the avenue 
of great moss-grown trees, through which the sunlight 
glinted on the grass ; so still that there was not a sound 
save a kind of rustling shudder, as the autumn breeze 
passed among the changing leaves, carrying one here and 
there to wither on the brake. But Nancy’s mind was out 
of tune, and even the lovely woodland scene around her 
awoke no enthusiasm in her breast. It was a relief to 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


252 

her, therefore, when she saw a slender, slightly drooping 
figure, which she thought she recognized, riding slowly 
up the avenue towards her, and a few minutes later she 
encountered Major Erne, who dismounted from his horse, 
and put his arm through the bridle to lead it when he met 
her. 

“ This is a beautiful day, is it not — a perfect day? ” he 
said as he shook hands with her. 

“Yes; but I am in such a bad humor I cannot enjoy 
it,” answered Nancy, smiling. 

“ A bad humor ! I never remember any bad humors 
in the old days ? ” 

“That was because I was young and innocent ; I didn't 
know the world so well then, Major Erne.” 

“ And you are so old and world-worn now ? ” he said, 
smiling a little sadly. 

“I feel old, indeed I do,” answered Nancy, rather wist- 
fully ; “ everything is so quiet here, youknow, on account 
of Lady Gilmore’s illness, and I suppose that is the reason 
I get into bad spirits — and bad tempered sometimes.” 

“And you are in a bad temper to-day?” 

“ I was, but I shall try to get out of it now.” 

“Well, shall I tell you why I have come to see you 
to-day?” . 

“Yes, if it needs any aplogy.” 

“ I hope it needs no apology ; but I am the bearer of a 
message from Miss Gifford, of Gateford Manor House. 

Nancy gave a little laugh. 

“Really I shall begin to think that Gerard — I beg his 
pardon, Lord Gilmore — was right, Major Erne, and that 
the ancient lady has taken quite a fancy to you.” 

“On the contrary, I think she has taken quite a fancy 
to you ; indeed she told me she thought that you had 
more sense than most young people, which for her, you 
know, was an immense compliment.” 

“ Yes, quite immense ; well, what is her message? ” 

“She has got something to say to you ” 

“ Something disagreeable, of course!” interrupted 
Nancy, with a little shrug and a smile. 

“She did not confide in me what it was; but I shall 
repeat her words: ‘Will you go on your way back to 
Wrothsley,’ she said, ‘and tell that young woman there 
that I wish to see her as I have got something to say to 
her. And if you like to drive her over to-morrow or the 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


253 

next day, to have luncheon here, I shall be glad to see 
you both, as you can have a smoke while I am having 
my little private chat with her. ,,, 

“Quite a mysterious communication, I declare/’ said 
Nancy ; but her face flushed a little, she was wondering 
if Miss Gifford had anything to tell her against Hugh. 

“Then, will you let me drive you over?” asked Erne. 

“I suppose I had better go,” answered Nancy, “she 
is a strange old woman, isn’t she ? ” 

“ Most strange ; with a curious insight into the motives 
of the hearts of those around her, I think. I watched her 
closely to-day, and I saw she was planning something in 
her mind before she asked me to give you her message.” 

“ But can you conveniently go to-morrow ? ” 

“ I can arrange to do so with the General, if to-morrow 
suits you better than the next day?” 

“Oh, all days are alike to me,” said Nancy, with a 
little impatient sigh ; “I have no engagements.” 

“ Let us fix the day after, then ; do you know I fancy 
it is something for your benefit that Miss Gifford is 
planning.” 

“It is to be hoped so — but you will come into the house 
now, won’t you?” 

“I have delivered my message,” said Erne, smiling, 
“and there is a dinner party at the General’s to-day at 
which I am bound to appear, so if you will excuse me I 
shall now turn my horse’s head homeward ; but I shall 
re-appear on Thursday morning in time to escort you 
safely to Gateford Manor House, for luncheon, at half- 
past one o’clock.” 

“Well, I must not detain you if that is the case.” 

“ Yet I would fain linger a little longer here in the sun- 
light ! What wonderful coloring there is down that glade, 
look, Mrs. Gifford — the gold and mellow brown, and yon 
faint blue mist? Certainly Wrothsley is a beautiful place ; 
a home any one might be proud of. ” 

“Yet you see its owner is scarcely ever here.” 

“You mean the present Lord Gilmore? Well, he’s a 
little bit odd, you know, and may not appreciate country 
life.” 

“Poor Gerard! I fancy he is at heart a very good 
fellow indeed, but his manner is so against him.” 

“ Miss Gifford declared to-day — and I think so too — 
that he has a remarkably good opinion of himself ; in 


254 A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT ’, OR , 

fact thinks himself dangerously attractive/’ said Erne, 
with a laugh. 

“How can that be, though his face is certainly hand- 
some ? ” 

“Is he like — Mr. Gifford?” said Erne, with a sort of 
hesitation, for somehow to name Nancy’s husband gave 
him a vague feeling of discomfort. 

“Yes, really very like in features, though you could not 
offer a greater insult to each than to tell them so.” 

“It is strange,” said Erne, musingly ; he was wonder- 
ing if there were any likeness between the characters of 
the two brothers also ; one of those subtle family inherit- 
ances of which we find traces in natures seemingly so 
diverse. 

But he talked no more of the Giffords ; he shook hands 
with Nancy, and then rode thoughtfully away, thinking 
as he went that her face had grown sadder and thinner 
than it used to be. 

“And she was such a bright girl — ah, well ; ” and Erne 
sighed, and wondered if Nancy had been his wife, if she 
would have looked so wistful and weary as she had done 
to-day. 

And the message from the grim old lady at Gateford 
Manor House had not tended to raise Nancy’s spirits. 
She kept wondering what it could mean, and Lady Gil- 
more also seemed to grow uneasy when she heard of it. 

“Her speech always has a sting,” she said, and her 
thoughts wandered back to the many hard words she had 
listened to from Miss Gifford’s biting tongue. Neverthe- 
less, she advised Nancy to accept her invitation ; and 
accordingly at the time fixed, Nancy did start for Gateford 
Manor House, accompanied by Major Erne and two 
grooms. 

It was a dark lowering day, the sky heavy with storm- 
clouds, while a fitful wind rose and fell at uncertain inter- 
vals. Altogether the weather looked so threatening that 
Erne advised Nancy to postpone her visit, or at all events 
to go in a close carriage. But Nancy preferred to risk it 
in Lady Gilmore’s pony carriage, and so they started, 
and arrived at Miss Gifford’s house without any misad- 
venture. 

“ We won’t get back without a wetting, I’m certain,” 
said Erne, glancing up at the gloomy sky, as they reached 
the antique portals of the Manor House, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


255 


“ We can make the day an excuse for not staying long,” 
she answered in a low tone ; and Miss Gifford’s first words 
were not reassuring. 

“Well, I never expected you,” she said, as she put 
out her claw-like hand in greeting ; “it was folly to come 
with a storm staring you in the face.” 

“Perhaps it won’t come until we get back,” answered 
Nancy. 

“You’ll have to make haste then,” retorted the old 
lady, and then she led the way to the dining-room, press- 
ing her guests to eat their lunch as quickly as possible. 

Erne also was anxious to go soon, on account of Nancy, 
and Miss Gifford made no offer for them to remain until 
the threatening storm was over. 

“Yes, we must not stay long, ” he said ; but Miss Gifford 
had something to say, and she meant to say it. 

“Come with me upstairs,” she presently proposed, 
looking at Nancy ; “and Major Erne must amuse him- 
self with the claret and a cigar until we come back ; ” and 
a sort of smile passed over her wrinkled visage as she 
glanced at Erne. 

Then she hobbled up the old-fashioned staircase, 
followed by Nancy, and went into the yet more old- 
fashioned room, whose furnishing had not been changed 
for seventy years. It looked faded and drear enough 
now in the darkling light, and a sort of shudder passed 
over Nancy’s frame as she looked around her. 

Miss Gifford carefully shut the door behind her, and 
then approaching Nancy, peering into her face with her 
bleared, yet searching eyes. 

“I told the young man downstairs to bring you here,” 
she began, “because I have got something to say to 
you ; a warning to give you.” 

“A warning?” repeated Nancy in a faltering voice. 

“Yes, a warning; why is it you are not with your 
husband, instead of your mother-in-law ? ” 

“ Hugh — wishes me to remain with Lady Gilmore for 
the present — you see we have no house of our own yet,” 
hesitated Nancy. 

“ But why have you no house ? ” went on Miss Gifford ; 
“the new lord has given Hugh Gifford a handsome in- 
come, I am told ; can he not afford to take a house for 
his wife out of it ? He ought to be able to do so, and 
you are a fool if you do not insist on it,” 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


256 

Nancy was silent and cast down her eyes. 

“I warn you,” continued the ancient woman before 
her, stretching out one of her skinny hands, and shaking 
a bony finger as if to give impressiveness to her words, 
“ Hugh Gifford is not a man to be left alone knocking 
about the world. There were enough scandals and stories 
about him before he married you, and take care there are 
not scandals and stories after — nay, I am told there are.*’ 

“Oh, do not talk thus to me, Miss Gifford, ” said Nancy, 
in much distress, “You see I always feel I did so much 
harm to Hugh by marrying him, that — that I do not like 
to give him any expense I can help, and as he wishes me 
to stay on at present with Lady Gilmore ” 

“Your place is with him,” interrupted Miss Gifford, 
positively, “ and not with his mother. But the expense 
shall not hinder him from furnishing a decent house for 
you. This is why I sent for you to-day — ask him to take 
a house and I will give you fifteen hundred pounds to 
furnish it, and remember the furniture is yours not his.” 

“It is very good of you, most good — I should like a 
house of my own very much, but I have always thought 
of the expense. ” 

“Then don’t think about it any longer; I’ll send you 
a check for the money to-morrow, and take my advice 
and go and look after your husband. There’s not one of 
them to be trusted, and a Gifford least of all.” 

These words made Nancy very uneasy, and as she 
stood hesitating how to answer them, Miss Gifford pointed 
with her ebony-stick to the gathering clouds overhead. 

“ Best make haste home now as quick as you can,” 
she said ; “I have said my say, and if you are a wise 
woman you’ll not forget my words. Now let us go down- 
stairs and I’ll ring and order your carriage round, for I 
am certain we shall have a storm.” 

Five minutes later the carriage drove round, and Nancy, 
with Miss Gifford’s ominous warning ringing in her ears, 
was assisted into it by Erne, and before they had proceeded 
a mile on their way the long-threatening storm burst forth 
with extraordinary violence. A torrent of rain descended 
first — almost like a water-spout — and then immense hail- 
stones came pattering down around them, and suddenly a 
vivid flash of lightning darted across the sky. 

“ We have got it with a vengeance now,” said Erne, as 
Nancy cowered down her head; “let me pull the hood of 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPTA TION. 257 

vour cloak over your hat, and I advise you to keep your 
eyes shut.” 

The servants behind drew out umbrellas and wraps ; 
one of them holding an umbrella over Nancy ; and Erne, 
who was a first-rate whip, urged the ponies on to their ut- 
most speed. Dashing forward they went amid blinding 
flashes of lightning and deafening peals of thunder, while 
scarcely a word was spoken by the occupants of the pony 
carriage. Then suddenly there was a blaze, a shock, a 
roar as of a hundred cannons, and the ponies leaped 
wildly into the air, one of them falling backwards, struck 
dead, while the other struggled madly in the traces. 

Ernes first thought was for Nancy. He turned to her 
still holding the reins firmly, and saw her head had fallen 
forward, and that the umbrella the groom had been hold- 
ing over her was rent and torn into a thousand fragments. 

“Get out, men; hold the horses’ heads!” he cried to 
the grooms behind, but only one man obeyed him. 

“ Johnson’s struck, sir,” said this man. Johnson was 
the groom who had been holding the umbrella over Nancy, 
and Erne glancing round saw this man’s face blackened 
and scorched, his eyes already fixed in a ghastly stare of 
death. 

“ Do not be afraid,” said Erne, putting his arm round 
Nancy, for he perceived that it was now absolutely nec- 
essary that he should lift her out of the carriage, which 
was swaying violently as the groom tried to obtain com- 
mand over the terrified pony ; “ I will lift you out, Nancy. 
Just put your hand on my shoulder; the worst is over 
now, that flash was not so near — come, try to take cour- 
age.” 

But no words came from Nancy’s lips, no sound, and a 
pang, sharp and cruel as a sword-cut, darted through 
Erne’s heart. 

“Nancy ! Why don’t you speak ? ” he cried sharply, in 
sudden terror. “Nancy ! What is the matter ! ” 

But there was no answer ; she lay in his grasp motion- 
less, her head hanging forward, and swaying with the 
movement of the carriage, and Erne now saw that the 
hood of her cloak was burnt and shrivelled. 

“Oh ! my God ! ” he muttered between his set teeth ; 
and then with a great effort of will, and he was a strong 
man, he contrived to scramble from the rocking carriage, 
still holding Nancy in his arms. 

17 


258 A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, \ OR , 

He laid her on the wet ground by the side of the road, 
and lifted up her head. Her face was changed and black- 
ened ; the consuming flame had touched her also with its 
fiery hand. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

A FRIEND IN NEED. 

Godfrey Erne had much self-control ; he had crushed 
back the feelings of his heart to Nancy in her bright girl- 
hood, because he knew he had not the means to support 
a wife ; and he crushed back the feelings of his heart now 
when he feared she lay stricken dead in his arms. 

“Which is the nearest — Gateford or Wrothsley ? ” he 
called out hoarsely to the groom, who had now succeeded 
in getting partial command over the affrighted pony, and 
was endeavoring to release it from the traces. 

“Gateford, by six or seven miles, sir,” answered the 
groom. 

“Then ride the pony there — you can manage to do 
that,” said Erne, still in that hoarse, changed voice. “Tell 
Miss Gifford from me what has happened, and ask her to 
send a carriage at once here for Mrs. Gifford. Do not 
waste a moment ; but first see after that poor fellow in the 
carriage.” 

The groom having now freed the living pony from the 
harness led it up to the back of the carriage, where the 
dead man still sat, though his head had fallen backward, 
and his half-open, sightless eyes seemed staring upwards 
at the darkling sky. 

The groom put his hand on his wrist, looked at him, 
and shook his head. 

“He’s done for, sir,” he said, “poor Johnson’s dead — 
dead as a door nail.” 

“Then nothing can avail him, leave him where he is, 
and ride at once to Gateford and give my message, and I 
will remain here with Mrs. Gifford until you return with 
the carriage ; and ask Miss Gifford for some brandy to 
bring back with you.” 

“I hope the poor lady ” hesitated the groom. 

“I pannot tell,” said Erne sharply and briefly in answer 
to the unspoken question, “go at once, do not delay a 
moment pp\y t 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


259 

The groom obeyed him immediately, and leaped on the 
back of the unsaddled pony, and started off at a gallop for 
Gateford Manor House, and Erne was left alone with 
Nancy and the dead man. 

Again he looked into her face, and something like a 
groan broke from his firm lips as he pushed some burnt 
hair from her brow. Was she dead? he asked himself, 
even as he tried to screen her from the downpour of rain 
which was turning the road into a river and soaking 
everything they wore. He laid her head on his breast 
and wrapped her cloak more closely around her, and en- 
deavored to shelter her with his own coat. The storm 
still went raging on, but Erne never heeded it. A storm 
was raging in his own breast, darker and more terrible 
than the thunder clouds. That she should be lying thus 
— lying in his arms dead, or perhaps dying — the girl he 
had loved so well, the woman whom but a day ago he 
had told himself he must not love, made him totally in- 
different to the wild uproar of the elements. 

Did something stir presently on his breast or was it the 
strong throbbings of his own heart? He moved back the 
cloak a little from her face and saw a faint quiver pass 
over it, and the next moment she feebly raised her hand 
and moved it uncertainly. 

“Nancy, you are quite safe, said Erne with uncon- 
scious tenderness and relief in his voice ; “I have sent 
one of the grooms for a carriage to Gateford, he will be 
here soon now, so you must not be afraid any more.” 

She half-lifted her head, and put her hand to her face, 
and a shiver, a shudder rather, ran through her frame. 

“Are you cold?” asked Erne, drawing the cloak once 
more closely around her. 

“ Where — am I ? ” came feebly now from Nancy’s parted 
lips. 

“ Here, with me, Nancy — with Godfrey Erne — and you 
will soon be at Gateford again. ” 

She tried again to lift her head ; and again put her hand 
to her face, and an expression of great fear stole over it. 

“It is quite dark,” she half-whispered ; “so dark, I can 
see nothing.” 

Then Erne glanced upwards at the sky. 

“No,” he said ; “it is clearing there over towards the 
west, the storm will soon be over now, and it is much 
lighter.” 


2( 5o a bitter birthright, or, 

“I can see nothing 1 , I can see nothing/ moaned Nancy. 
“ I — must be blind.” 

“ The lightning, perhaps, has hurt your eyes,” an- 
swered Erne with great gentleness and kindness ; “ but 
that will all come right ; shut them now, and lean against 
me, and I will try to keep the rain away from you.” 

And Nancy’s head once more fell down as if she had not 
strength to hold it up, and when Erne laid his hand upon 
her wrist to feel the pulsation, it was so feeble that every 
moment his alarm increased. He did not attempt to speak 
to her any more, nor rouse her from the half-unconscious 
state into which she seemed to have fallen. She moaned 
slightly once or twice but gave no other sign of life, and 
Erne’s miserable anxiety to be able to procure her some 
assistance was terrible to endure. 

Would the carriage never come ? he asked himself with 
almost uncontrollable impatience. An hour and more had 
passed since he had sent the groom to Gateford, and Erne 
knew well that the fluttering breath that he listened for 
so eagerly at any moment might be stayed. At last his 
strained ears heard a distant sound of wheels, and a few 
minutes later Miss Gifford’s old-fashioned family coach 
appeared, the coachman drawing up a few yards from 
where Erne stood, holding the half-unconscious Nancy 
in his arms. 

Then one of the ancient serving-women from Gateford 
descended from the coach, and the groom Erne had sent ; 
the woman giving a kind of suppressed cry when her eyes 
fell on the dead man and the dead horse. 

“Hush,” said Erne, sternly; “Mrs. Gifford must be 
kept perfectly quiet. I will lift her into the carriage, and 
then you take off her wet cloak and boots, ana rub her 
feet and hands with brandy if you have brought any.” 

The old woman had brought brandy and strong es- 
sences, and by Erne’s directions she first got back into 
the great roomy family coach, and then Erne carried 
Nancy in his arms to the carriage door, and she was lifted 
in partly by himself, and partly by the serving-woman. 

The ancient handmaid luckily had all her senses about 
her, and soon wrapped Nancy’s chill cold form in a warm 
dry fur cloak which she had brought, and drew off her wet 
boots. Erne, who had also got into the coach, still held 
Nancy in his arms, and now began wetting her lips with 
brandy and at last induced her to swallow a little of the 
spirit, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPT A TION. 2 6 1 

This seemed slightly to revive her, for she lifted up her 
head and stretched out her hands. 

“Are you better now ? ” asked Erne gently. 

“I — I feel so strange — and I cannot see,” faltered 
Nancy’s weak voice. 

‘ ‘ That is the shock to your nerves, you know, ” explained 
Erne, with the deepest pity in his heart; “it will pass 
away ; and you are safely in Miss Gifford’s carriage now, 
and we shall drive quietly back to Gateford ; and in a 
few days you will be quite well again, and the storm is 
almost gone now.” 

“ Did the lightning strike me ? ” asked Nancy’s scarcely 
audible tones. 

“ It struck the carriage, but you are quite safe now, and 
you must try to swallow a little more of this to keep you 
warm, and Miss Gifford’s maid here will stay beside you 
while I give some orders.” 

He placed her on the seat of the carriage as he spoke, 
and bade the old woman support her in her arms. Then 
he went and gave some directions to the Wrothsley groom 
concerning the dead man and the dead pony, returning to 
Nancy’s side a moment later, and holding her up all the 
way during their return to Gateford. 

Miss Gifford was standing in the antique porch as they 
drew near the old house, anxiously waiting their arrival. 
Something that beat still in her withered breast had smote 
her when she realized that she had sent out a young girl, 
and the handsome soldier who reminded her of her youth, 
to bear the brunt of a terrible storm on the exposed high- 
way, instead of beneath the shelter of her roof-tree. Then, 
when the groom on the unsaddled pony galloped up to 
the house door, and told of the disaster that had occurred 
— told with a white, drenched, scared face, that the light- 
ning had killed one man, and that he feared Mrs. Gifford 
was dead also — the old woman who listened trembled and 
grew pale, remembering her own selfishness. 

She always went to sleep every afternoon, and she 
wanted to sleep through the storm, and so had not cared 
to be troubled with visitors. Thus she had let them go 
away ; indeed had given no hint about asking them to 
remain, and her heart reproached her with this now. 

And with strange agitation and fear she watched him 
lift Nancy out of the carriage, assisted by her ancient maid, 
and caught a glimpse of the face that had been so lovely 


262 A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 

but a few hours before. Erne made her a sign to suppress 
any exclamations of alarm, and Nancy was quickly and 
quietly carried to one of the bedrooms, and a doctor im- 
mediately sent for. 

Miss Gifford then beckoned to Erne to come to her, and 
grasped his hand in her own shaking withered one when 
he did so. 

“What is the matter with her ! ” she asked in a trem- 
bling voice. 

“The lightning struck the carriage,” he answered very 
gravely and sadly; “ and killed one of the grooms and 
one of the ponies, and must have struck Mrs. Gifford also, 
for the hood she had over her head was burnt, and some 
of her hair — and the most terrible part is, I fear she is 
blind.” 

“Blind? Surely not blind?” echoed Miss Gifford, in 
great agitation. 

“At least she can see nothing, and she is utterly pros- 
trate with the shock.” 

“Poor young thing — poor young thing ! But we must 
pull her through, and that husband of hers ought to be 
here.” 

“Yes,” said Erne, casting down his eyes. 

“ I’ll telegraph for him ; this never would have happened 
if she had been with him as she ought to have been — he 
ought to be ashamed of himself! ” 

It was some relief to Miss Gifford to be able to abuse 
Hugh Gifford, and thus remove part of the blame of ex- 
posing Nancy to the storm off her own shoulders. And 
she did this at intervals during the rest of the day, though 
it must be admitted doing everything she could for poor 
Nancy. The doctor when he arrived pronounced her in a 
critical condition, and added that her husband should be 
sent for at once ; but was unable to give any positive 
opinion as to her sight. For the present she was blind, 
and with a heavy heart during the evening, Erne borrowed 
a horse of Miss Gifford, and rode to Wrothsley to break 
the sad news to Lady Gilmore, before he returned to the 
General’s at Greystone Lodge, where he was still staying. 

A day later and Hugh Gifford arrived at Gateford 
Manor House, where Nancy still lay very ill. But he 
was not allowed to see his young wife for several days, 
during which time Miss Gifford took the opportunity of 
speaking her mind to him. She told him why she had sent 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPT A TIOM 263 

for Nancy, and Hugh Gifford listened with a moody brow 
and an angry heart. 

“ I meant to take a house for her in the spring,” he said 
gloomily. 

“She won’t likely be alive to go into it,” retorted Miss 
Gifford ; “ but if she is I’ll see that you do take one; and, 
moreover I mean to furnish it, and settle the furniture on 
her.” 

But after a few anxious days Nancy rallied, but when 
they told her that her husband was in the house, she gave 
a little, anxious start. 

“What will he say when he hears I am blind?” she 
said, in a low tone. 

“You can’t help being blind, even if you are,” replied 
Miss Gifford, tartly. “ If he had happened to be struck 
blind, I suppose you would have just felt the same to 
him ? ” 

“But that is different,” said Nancy, with a little sigh, a 
sigh that revealed much to Miss Gifford’s ears. 

But when Hugh Gifford was allowed to see Nancy, he 
was most kind and gentle to her. He was greatly shocked 
to see her so changed, and the idea of her blindness was 
intensely painful to him. 

“ I think I can see just a little now, Hugh,” she said, 
pitiably, and he stooped down and kissed her brow and 
eyelids. 

“ Your pretty eyes will be all quite right soon,” he said; 
“don’t distress yourself about them, Nancy.” 

He sat down beside the bed and took her hand in his, 
and Nancy began to reproach herself for having ever 
thought him careless or unkind. 

“If you don’t mind,” she said wistfully. 

“Don’t think I am quite such a selfish brute as that,” 
he answered quickly ; and then in a little while he sighed, 
and rose restlessly, and began to pace the room. 

But on the whole Miss Gifford was satisfied with his 
manner to Nancy, and, when she began to recover from 
the stroke, he used to lead her down to the old-fashioned 
garden, and Miss Gifford would watch the two wander- 
ing there arm-in-arm, and had her head well pleased as 
she did so. 

“He’s not so* bad,” this strange old woman used to 
reflect ; “ if they have a son he shall be my heir — except 
legacies.” 


264 A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 

Godfrey Erne only called twice to inquire how Nancy 
was after Hugh Gifford arrived at Gateford Manor House, 
and then for the first time he saw the handsome, graceful 
man, who had once been Lord Gilmore. 

“ I do not know how to thank you enough, Major Erne," 
said Hugh Gifford courteously, “for all your kindness to 
my poor young wife in her great peril." 

“ I was only too glad to be of any assistance to her," 
he answered, briefly. 

“You are an old friend of her family, she tells me?" 
continued Hugh Gifford, pleasantly. 

“Yes, I knew both Colonel and Mrs. Loftus very inti- 
mately in India." 

But he did not say how well he had known Nancy ! 
Hugh Gifford thought his manner was rather abrupt, and 
smilingly told Nancy after their interview that he thought 
her Indian friend was very reserved. 

“There is quite a military brevity about his style of 
conversation," he said ; “ and yet hes not a bad-looking 
fellow." 

“No. Miss Gifford thinks he is quite handsome," 
answered Nancy, also smiling; “ and then, Hugh, he is 
so kind — so very kind." 

“He seems to have been very good to you, little 
woman, at any rate, though why you were so foolish as 
to start in a storm I cannot conceive." 

“But it was not a storm when we started, Hugh." 

He did not continue the conversation, and Nancy 
noticed how constantly he would thus abruptly end one, 
and how uncertain his spirits were. But he said no un- 
kind word to her, and after remaining about a fortnight 
at Gateford, he took her back to Wrothsley and Miss Gif- 
ford kissed her before she went. 

“There ! good-bye," she said, as she laid her thin blue 
lips against Nancy’s; “the last face I kissed was my 
dead brother’s — your husband’s grandfather — for I am 
not given to kissing and humbug ; but, all the same, I am 
sorry you are going." 

“Good-bye, dear Miss Gifford, and thank you for all 
your great kindness," said Nancy, sweetly and gratefully. 

Again the stern old woman kissed her, and then shook 
hands with Hugh Gifford. 

“Mind you are good to her," she said, by way of a 
parting salutation to her grand-nephew ; and as she 


LADY GILMORE $ TEMPTATION. 


26? 


watched Hugh hand his poor blind young wife into the 
carriage she began to mutter to herself. 

“She’s too good for him, anyhow,” she said, “but, 
please God, she’ll get back her sight, and please God, too, 
her son will have the old place after I’m gone.” 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

A NEW HAPPINESS. 

The next few months brought great changes to Nancy. 
She continued very weak and delicate all through the 
early winter, for her constitution had received such a 
terrible shock, she was never quite able to throw off its 
effects ; and though her eyesight improved, for long she 
could only see very dimly. 

But she was a very gentle, patient invalid, and won 
love from all round her by her uncomplaining endurance 
of weakness and pain. She knew that Hugh Gifford hated 
the thought of her partial blindness, and she therefore 
strove as much as possible to hide it. But it was sad to 
see the strained look in her once beautiful eyes, and her 
expression altogether was very touching. 

And Christmas came and passed away, and then in the 
chill January days a little son was born at Wrothsley — a 
beautiful boy, handsome as his father had been in his 
lusty boyhood — and from the first Miss Gifford took almost 
entire possession of the child. 

She started for the Castle immediately she heard the 
news, and went up to the bedroom where the young 
mother lay with a look of sweet joy on her face. 

“So it’s a boy? ’’she said to Nancy, in her brusque 
way. “ Well, let me have a look at him ? ” 

Then the nurse with great pride held up the babe, and 
the old woman peered long and earnestly at its face. 

“ A true Gifford,” she said at length ; “ well, he’s to be 
my boy, you know, Nancy, and I’ll pay for his bringing 
up, and I'll make him my heir ; but he must be called 
Thomas after his great, great grandfather, which is a 
better name than any of your new-fangled ones.” 

“ You shall have your own way, Miss Gifford,” smiled 
Nancy, “unless Hugh objects.” 


266 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


“ I should like to see Hugh objecting indeed ! No, my 
dear,” she added grimly ; “ Hugh will not object ; people 
are very considerate to the whims of rich old women, 
and he knows very well I can make little Thomas a 
wealthy man.” 

Again Nancy smiled. 

“ I have something to tell you,” she said softly, 
holding out her white hand, which Miss Gifford took ; 
“ever since baby was born my sight seems to come back 
to me — God has given it to me 1 think to look on my 
darling’s face.” 

Miss Gifford nodded twice, but did not speak. 

“ And your husband,” she said after a little while, 
“ what does he say about the child ? ” 

“ Oh, he is very pleased — he says he is such a hand- 
some boy,” answered Nancy. 

But she did not tell the grand-aunt all that Hugh Gifford 
had said when he first looked on the face of his child. 
During the long months of Nancy's illness he had come 
and gone from Wrothsley at intervals, but had always 
treated her with kindness and consideration. He was 
sorry for her, and Nancy, who was quick-witted, under- 
stood it was pity which made him spare her any hard or 
reproachful words. And she understood, too, that his very 
nature seemed changed. True, at times he resumed his 
old jesting manner, but as a rule he was moody and re- 
served. They telegraphed to town for him when Nancy 
took ill, and by the time he reached Wrothsley the child 
was born. Then, when he saw the babe, he looked at it 
earnestly for a few moments, but presently turned his 
head away with an impatient sigh. 

“ Are you not satisfied with him, Hugh ? ” asked Nancy, 
wistfully. 

“ Yes, yes, of course,” he answered, going up to the 
bed and taking her hand. “ He is a handsome little 
fellow ; but I was thinking of what he ought to have 
been.” 

“ You mean ” 

“ I mean if that hunchback had never come here;” 
said Hugh Gifford, with an angry gleam in his hazel 
eyes; “then your boy would have been the heir, as he 
ought to be.” 

He is the heir of a great deal, Hugh,” said Nancy, 
gently and soothingly. “ He has come into a kingdom 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 267 

of love, I think ; your mother is delighted with him, and 
I need not say what I feel.” 

“ You look much better, at any rate, Nancy, since his 
arrival — and who knows ? He may be the heir yet, for 
that hunchback will never marry, surely/’ 

Nancy said nothing, for to mention his elder brother to 
him ever angered Hugh Gifford ; and she had learnt that 
it was wiser never to breathe his name. 

In all these months, indeed, Hugh Gifford had gone on 
hating the man who had supplanted him and struck him, 
with a deadly hatred. Little things were constantly re- 
minding him of the loss of the position to which he had be- 
lieved himself born, and he heard occasionally of Gerard, 
Lord Gilmore ; heard of his follies ; that he drank too 
much ; and that his companions more befitted his rearing 
than his birth, and that his whole life indeed was generally 
discreditable. 

These rumors were probably exaggerated, but Hugh 
Gifford listened to them eagerly, and used to shrug his 
shoulders contemptuously when he spoke of him. The 
brothers were known not to be friends, and Hugh Gifford 
carefully avoided any chance meeting, and Lord Gilmore 
made this the excuse for rarely appearing at Wrothsley, 
the life there being in reality too quiet and formal for his 
tastes. 

Father Hayward had made one or two earnest efforts 
to lead him back into the straight path, but the graceless 
young lord had only laughed good-naturedly. 

“ I am a bit of a black sheep, you know,” he said smil- 
ingly, “ but I shall be always ready to give you money 
for charities, or the church, or that kind of thing, and 
that’s what you priests think of most, eh?” 

“You are mistaken, Lord Gilmore ; what I am most 
anxious for is that you should worthily maintain your 
new position , ” answered the good priest. 

The young man before him shrugged his shoulders, 
and gave a careless laugh ; and one of the reasons that 
the new Lord Gilmore disliked going to Wrothsley for, was 
that he was sure to encounter Father Hayward there. 

“ I hate being lectured,” he told Nancy, and so he went 
on living the life that pleased him best, and they rarely 
saw him at the Castle. 

But he wrote Nancy a very kind letter when he heard 
of the baby’s birth, and sent down a splendid silver 


*68 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


goblet as a christening-present to “little Tommy,” on the 
occasion of Nancy’s child being named plain “Thomas 
Gifford,” by the express wish of his godmother, Miss Gif- 
ford. 

As this ancient dame had foreseen, Hugh Gifford made 
no objection to his little son being named after his great 
great grandfather, as soon as he heard that Miss Gifford 
proposed to make the boy her heir. Miss Gifford was 
known to be extremely rich, and her wishes were esti- 
mated accordingly. She also soon after the christening 
reminded Hugh Gifford of his promise to take a house for 
Nancy, and placed the check to furnish it in Nancy’s 
hands. 

“Don’t grudge expense,” she said, if that is not enough, 
there is more where it came from. I want you to have 
a nice house of your own, and I mean to come up and 
stay with you sometimes. I intend to keep my eye on 
the boy.” 

Thus it happened that in the early days of March Nancy 
and her little son went up to town, and found a new 
home awaiting for them there. Hugh Gifford had taken 
a small but good house, looking on the park, for his wife, 
and Miss Gifford’s generosity had sufficed to furnish it 
very prettily. Nancy was greatly pleased with it, and a 
new look of content and peace had stolen over her face, 
for her love seemed to make up for all. She was stronger 
too, now, and was nearly as handsome as she had ever 
been. 

“She’s sweeter looking to my mind even than before 
her accident,” Miss Gifford said one day to Lady Gilmore. 
“Aye, it’s well for women to have children, they make up 
for much to them.” 

Nancy saw her old friend Godfrey Erne before she left 
Wrothsley, and was struck with the change in his ap- 
pearance. He was looking ill and worn, and his hair 
had grown slightly gray at the temples. 

“ I am glad to see you,” said Nancy, with some agita- 
tion, as she put her hand in his, for she was remembering 
the moment of deadly peril they had passed together, and 
how she surely owed her life to Erne. “I have never 
seen you to thank you — for what you did — and oh ! it 
was so terrible.” 

“It was terrible to me,” answered Erne in a low tone, 
casting down his eyes. 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPT A T/OJV. 269 

“I am always afraid to think of it,” said Nancy 
nervously. 

“ Do not think of it, then,” said Erne with an effort and 
a forced smile ; “ so I hear you are going to live in town ? ” 

“Yes, Mr. Gifford has taken a house there, and your 
old friend Miss Gifford has most kindly furnished it for us, 
and I hope you will come and see us, Major Erne, when 
you are up in town ? ” 

“ I shall be very pleased to do so.” 

“ And you’ve not seen baby ? ”said Nancy with a pretty 
blush, rising and ringing the bell for the child ; and when 
he was brought in she took him in her arms and carried 
him up to Erne to be admired. 

“He’s a fine little fellow,” said Erne, without enthus- 
iasm ; and he just touched one of the pink, tiny, doubled 
fists with his hand, and then turned away his head ; and 
Nancy could not understand why he did not wish to kiss 
her babe ! 

In fact she perceived that Master Tommy seemed to 
have a depressing effect on Erne, and so, feeling a little 
hurt and not a little astonished, she gave him back to his 
nurse and began to talk of Miss Gifford. 

“She is baby’s godmother, you know,” she informed 
him, as though the news would be of great interest to her 
visitor; “and she insisted on him being called after her 
brother, who was Sir Thomas Gifford before he became 
Lord Gilmore ; but I must have a pretty pet name for 
baby. Tom is so ugly, and Tommy worse, don’t you 
think ? ” 

Erne gave rather a grim laugh. 

“ There is not much to choose between them certainly; 
but Thomas is a respectable rich-sounding name. I wish 
my godfathers and godmothers had called me Thomas.” 

“Godfrey is much prettier,” said Nancy, smiling; 
“yes, I must have a pretty pet name for the boy.” 

“ She thinks of nothing but the boy,” thought Erne a 
little bitterly ; and shortly afterwards he rose and took his 
leave, and his heart felt very sad and weary as he rode 
down the long avenue at Wrothsley. 

But the grandest and happiest day for Nancy was after 
she arrived at her new house in town, when she carried 
baby for the first time to see her mother. When the time 
of her trial had drawn near, Nancy had most earnestly 
desired to have her mother with her ; but as Hugh Gifford 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR 


2 JO 

never proposed this, Nancy remembering what he had 
said regarding her own family, had suppressed this most 
urgent wish of her heart, and Mrs. Loftus had endured 
the most painful anxiety on her account until she heard 
of her safety. 

Now the mother and daughter met with joy that was 
too deep for words. And the boy ! 

“Isn’t he lovely?’' said Nancy naively, uncovering 
the little face which she thought the most beautiful on 
earth, and gazing at it with enraptured eyes. And we 
may be sure the granddame did not disappoint her as Erne 
had done. Mrs. Loftus was, indeed, nearly as much 
delighted with it as Nancy herself, and then the baby aunt 
was brought down to kiss her new nephew, and altogether 
this meeting was a very happy one ; Aunt Fannie happily 
having spent the winter abroad, and thus not being present 
to mar it. 


But now shall we leave Nancy for a while to her simple 
baby worship, and take a glimpse of another life — the life 
of a woman, too — who (on the same fair spring morning 
that Nancy first took her boy to see her mother) was 
standing in a garden at Maidenhead, looking with languid 
interest at the green buds appearing on the dark boughs 
and listening vaguely to the love songs of the birds. 

A pretty woman this, young and fair, with a certain 
rustic beauty about her appearance that suited well her 
present surroundings. She bore the name, too, of Mrs. 
May, and lived in the picturesque, roomy, old-fashioned, 
red brick house, o’er whose moss-grown walks she was 
now pensively standing. 

Presently she heard a footstep behind her, and she 
turned round with a smile and a quick blush. 

“I am so glad you have come out, Gerard,” she said, 
“it is so lonely here.” 

“And are you sentimentalizing as usual, Madame 
May?” answered Gerard, with a good-natured little 
laugh. 

He was smoking a cigarette, and his head was uncov- 
ered, and he was rather carelessly dressed. But there 
was no mistaking the handsome face, the smiling hazel 
eyes, and the unfortunate defect in his form. Yes, this 
was Gerard, Lord Gilmore, and the fair woman he called 
Madame May, and who now put her arm fondly through 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPT A TION. 


271 

his, was no other than the pretty girl he had loved on the 
wild sea coast, and who for his sake had secretly quitted 
her fathers house, and well-nigh broken the old man’s 
heart. 

To do the young man justice, however, he kept his 
word to May, and married her on the very day that she 
fled to him. Married her in secret, and made her swear 
to keep the secret until he chose to reveal it. She was 
thus called Mrs. May at the house at Maidenhead, and 
was regarded as its mistress. Gerard, Lord Gilmore did 
not always live there, but he very often did so, and he 
used it to invite his friends down the river, and they 
made merry in the old-fashioned garden, beneath the 
shady trees ; and thus in all probability arose the rumors 
of the new lord’s dissolute life, that from time to time 
reached his brother’s ears. 

“Let us take a turn or two, Gerard, on the low walk,” 
presently said May to him ; “it is so pretty to see the sun 
shining on the river from there.” 

So the two walked arm-in-arm down the garden to- 
gether, May leaning on his affectionately, and looking 
from time to time rather wistfully in his face, as if she 
were thinking of something. 

“Gerard,” she said, at length, “ I’ve got something to 
say to you.” 

“Well, May, what is it? ” he answered. 

She hesitated a moment, cast down her eyes, and then 
again suddenly looked up. 

“ It’s about telling people that we are married — how 
long do you think we need keep the secret now ? It’s 
not about myself, Gerard,” she added, quickly, noting 
that his expression changed, “but about poor father, 
and ” 

“Oh, by-and-bye, no hurry yet ; but it will be all right, 
so don’t worry yourself, May* — and now it’s so fine I 
think I’ll go and have a row on the river, for I’ve got 
a bit of a headache,” said Lord Gilmore, rather quickly, 
as May paused, for he hated to be worried, and to be 
reminded of his marriage he regarded as worry. 

She said nothing more, but she sighed softly as he 
turned to leave her, and’ kept walking pensively up and 
down the garden walk, while Gilmore ran into the house 
and put on a blue cloth rowing cap, and five minutes later 
was pulling vigorously up the river, 


272 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 


As he went on he passed a lady, also rowing alone in 
a small boat, whose striking and picturesque appearance 
instantly attracted his attention. She was dark and 
beautiful, and wore a small scarlet cap somewhat coquet- 
tishly placed on her well-poised head. 

Gilmore looked at her boldly enough as he rowed past 
her boat, and for a moment the lady glanced at him with 
the most lovely lustrous dark eyes, he told himself, he 
had ever seen. The next moment, however, she gave a 
little scream, and Gilmore then at once saw she had con- 
trived to drop one of her oars into the river, which the 
tide was rapidly carrying away from her. 

With a smile he immediately turned his boat and went 
in pursuit of the floating oar. He soon caught it, and 
then pulled back again, and drew up alongside the lady's 
boat, and presented the oar to her with a bow. 

“Oh, thanks, thanks so much,” she said, in English, 
but with a slight foreign accent. “What should I have 
done if I had not been so fortunate as to have met you ? ” 

“The good fortune was all on my side,” answered 
Lord Gilmore, smiling, “ to have been of the slightest use 
to you.” 

“ How good of you to say so ! I was not thinking of 
my poor oars, I fear, but of the lovely day ; and then I 
am not used to your English rivers.” 

“What country then was lucky enough ” began 

Gilmore, and then he paused as he did not know exactly 
how to complete his sentence, and as he did so the lady 
laughed prettily, and showed her white and even teeth. 

“ I came from France — the south of France,” she said ; 
“and Monsieur?” she added, with interest. 

“Oh! I’m thoroughly English,” answered Gilmore 
with a little laugh. 

“With an English name ? Some of your English names 
sound so strange to my ears.” 

“My name is English enough too — I am Lord Gilmore 
— Gerard, Lord Gilmore.” 

“Gerard, Lord Gilmore,” repeated the lady in softest 
accents : “ it is a lovely name ! ” 

- “And may I ask the name of the lovely lady who is 
talking to me?” asked Gilmore, who was highly delighted 
with the compliment, and quite vain enough to believe 
that the dark-eyed lady admired him. 

“Iam named Madame de Costa; my husband w^s q 
Portuguese gentleman.” 


LAV Y GILMORE'S TEMPT A TION. 2 73 

“Is Madame a widow then?” 

“I have that misfortune ; ” and Madame de Costa cast 
down her dark eyes, but the next moment she lifted them, 
and smiled in Gilmore’s face. 

“I am most happy to have made Madame’s acquaint- 
ance,” said Gilmore, raising his blue cloth cap from his 
handsome head. 

“And — I, too, am happy — to know Lord Gilmore.” 

“Shall we row up the stream a bit together, then?” 
suggested Gilmore ; and Madame bowed smilingly, and 
began once more to dip her oars in the shining river. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE SECOND MEETING. 

Gerard, Lord Gilmore, never forgot this first meeting 
with the beautiful Frenchwoman as she called herself, on 
the broad and sunlit waters of the Thames. It did not 
last very long, for Madame de Costa soon tired, or affect- 
ed to tire, of the exertion of rowing, but it lasted long 
enough to fill Gilmore’s heart with absolute enthusiasm 
for her beauty. 

After they had proceeded about a quarter-of-a-mile 
further up the river, from the point where they first met, 
Madame stretched out one of her white, uncovered hands 
towards a little villa, standing with only the depth of the 
garden in front of it from the water’s edge. 

“That is my small nest,” she said, “that I have taken 
for your English summer ; then, when your fogs come 
I must fly southward.” 

“And you live there, all alone?” asked Gilmore. 

“ All alone,” answered Madame, smiling ; “ and now I 
am going to pull ashore, for my arms do ache so badly 
with the weight of the oars ” 

She pushed back her sleeves, as she spoke, and showed 
her beautiful white arms to Gilmore’s admiring gaze. 

“ Let me row you in, if you are tired,” he said, rising in 
his boat ; “see, and he caught hold of hers, “I can soon 
change if you will give me leave ? ” 


274 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


“I do give you leave, Lord Gilmore/’ 

A minute later Gilmore was beside her, and had taken 
her oars from her willing hands. 

“ But your boat? ” she said. 

“It must take its chance ; I will catch it up if you will 
lend me yours, after I have seen you safely ashore.” 

He then rowed her in, up to a sort of stockade at the 
foot of the garden of the villa, which parted it from the 
river, and formed a barrier against its encroachments, 
and on one of the posts of this stockade, a dark swarthy 
looking man was sitting contentedly; fishing. 

‘ ‘ Does that black-browed fellow belong to you ? ” asked 
Gilmore. 

“Yes, that is my servant,” she answered. 

“ He looks like a Spaniard,” said Gilmore. 

At this moment the man, having seen them approach- 
ing, carefully laid his fishing-rod on the top of the stock- 
ade, and went towards the landing-place, while Madame 
de Costa gave him some directions in Spanish, of which 
Gilmore did not understand a single word. 

The swarthy black-browed man grinned as he answered 
also in Spanish, and Gilmore noticed he had an evil, 
though somewhat handsome, face. He pulled in the boat, 
and was about to hand Madame out of it, when Gilmore 
leaped ashore, and eagerly offered his assistance, which 
Madame gracefully accepted. 

“I must thank you again,” she said, as they stood a 
moment or two together on the landing place. 

“What for?” he answered smilingly, with his bright 
hazel eyes fixed on her face. 

“ For saving my poor oar — perhaps my life.” 

“May I ask some reward, then ? ” said Gilmore boldly, 
“ for my small service, if you deem it one? ” 

“And what do you wish? ” 

“To see you sometimes; to be allowed to visit you 
sometimes ? ” 

“I will be very glad to see Lord Gilmore.” 

Again, Gilmore raised his blue cloth cap, and then 
stepped back into Madame’s boat. 

“ I will come to-morrow,” he said smiling, “do not be 
so cruel as to refuse to see me, Madame?” 

She smiled too, and then bade the Spaniard, whom she 
called Juan, get into the boat also, to bring it back after 
Gilmore had reclaimed his own. Then, she stood and 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


275 

watched them row out, and Gilmore's hazel eyes were 
still fixed upon her face. 

But as they passed out of sight, her expression suddenly 
changed, and a tragic, even terrible, look stole over her 
beautiful features. 

“He is too like — too like the other,” she murmured, 
clasping her hand over her heart, as if to still its wild 
throbbings, “but for his sake — I must not hesitate.” 

Long she stood there with her eyes fixed on the shin- 
ing river, but she was not thinking of the golden gleams 
on the rippling tide. Juan rowed in presently, and 
grinned again at her, as he secured the boat to the stock- 
ade, and then calmly resumed his fishing, but Madame 
de Costa neither looked at him nor spoke to him. Pres- 
ently, however, she roused herself from her abstraction, 
and in her languid, graceful fashion proceeded up the gar- 
den to the villa, which she entered by one of the windows, 
that opened on the little terrace in front. Then she went 
through the luxuriously furnished room she had entered, 
into an inner room beyond, and kneeling down before an 
inlaid cabinet, she unlocked it with a little golden key, 
that hung from her girdle. 

Still kneeling she drew forth from this cabinet a portrait 
— the portrait of a man young and handsome — and kissed 
it passionately, pressing it against her bosom as if it 
were some living thing. 

“My beloved, my beloved, for thy sake,” she murmured, 
as she gazed with her dark lustrous eyes on the smiling 
pictured face. 

“But they are too like, too like,” she repeated again 
below her breath, and a moan escaped her lips, as if 
wrung forth by some strong mental agony. And while 
she still knelt thus, another woman entered the room ; a 
woman long past her first youth, and dark and swarthy- 
looking like the Spaniard Juan, to whom she bore a strong 
resemblance. 

“Well,” she said in Spanish, addressing Madame de 
Costa familiarly, “ have you snared the bird yet? I saw 
you from the windows row in with a man.” 

“Be silent! be silent!” cried Madame de Costa with 
sudden anger in her tone, rising to her feet. “ Go from 
this room — I do not want to talk.” 

The Spanish woman shrugged her shoulders and obeyed 
frer ? and then Madame de Costa having once more kissed 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR, 


276 

the portrait, locked it away, and sat down by one of the 
windows of the room ; sat with clasped hands and dreamy 
eyes, her heart full of strange, terrible, yet ofttimes tender, 
thoughts. 

In the meanwhile Gilmore was rowing down the river 
towards Maidenhead full of excitement. Never before 
had he looked on such a face as Madame de Costa’s 
he told himself; never before seen such a perfect form. 
He was an ardent admirer of beauty, and the rich 
Southern tints, the wondrous lustre in Madame’s dark 
eyes seemed completely to have fascinated him. 

“ She is more like some lovely Andalusian woman, 
than a Frenchwoman,” he thought, recalling Madame’s 
charms, “ but she said the South of France, so very likely 
she has some Spanish blood in her veins.” 

He was still thinking of her when he reached Maiden- 
head, and after leaving his boat, walked up to the pleasant 
old house he had bought there, which stood amidst some 
green fields, a little apart from the town. As he entered 
the garden he heard voices, and when he neared the 
house, saw standing before it, enjoying the sunshine, 
May and Mr. Whitmore, who was the young man who 
had accidentally encountered John Sumners at Gilmore’s 
rooms in town. 

“Ah, Whitmore,” cried Gilmore, for he was always 
hospitable, “ run down to have a breath of fresh air, eh? 
Awfully glad to see you.” 

“ Thanks, old fellow,” answered Mr. Whitmore, shaking 
Gilmore’s outstretched hand ; “ I was just telling Mrs. May 
here, it’s such a lovely day I thought I would look you 
up.” 

“ Delighted to see you — come into the house and have a 
drink ; I’ve been rowing and I feel confoundedly thirsty.” 

But not during this “ drink,” nor the many “drinks” 
that followed during the course of the day, did Gilmore 
give one hint of his adventure with the dark-eyed woman, 
on the river. Nor did he speak of it to May, and yet 
it was always present in his mind, and to his secret 
annoyance he found that Mr. Whitmore not only intended 
to spend the day, but to remain all night also at the 
Rookery, as the old house he had bought was named, 
because in their mysterious fashion a small colony of the 
sable-hued birds had dwelt for generations in some 
ancient elms at the garden foot, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


277 


Gilmore was too hospitable to hint that he wished his 
friend to go, and to his vexation Mr. Whitmore remained ; 
remained all night and the best part of the next day, and 
it was late in the afternoon before Gilmore found himself 
free. 

“I am going'for a row up the river/’ he told May, 
“ now we’ve got rid of that fellow.” 

“ It will be very nice on the river now, ’’said May, a 
little wistfully, for she also thought she should like a row. 

But Gilmore did not offer to take her, and indeed made 
haste to leave the house, lest she should ask to accompany 
him. Soon then he found himself swiftly passing through 
the water, on his way to the little river-side villa, and as 
he drew near it, he perceived Madame de Costa sitting 
idly in a boat, just in front of the stockade, and the 
Spaniard Juan fishing from precisely the same spot where 
he had been sitting yesterday. 

Madame turned quickly round when the dip of Gil- 
more’s oars fell on her ears, and her rich olive tinted 
complexion paled a little as she recognized him. Then 
Gilmore rowed up beside her boat, and taking off his cap, 
bowed low his handsome head. 

“I could not have the pleasure of coming before,” he 
began with an ingenuous blush ; “ I was so awfully vexed, 
Madame, not to get earlier, but a fellow came down from 
town to see me, and stopped all night, and he’s only just 
gone, or I should have been here before.” 

“All in good time,” smiled Madame graciously. 

“It seemed a most awfully long time to me to wait, I 
know,” said Gilmore, “it’s close on seven now, and I 
know it’s too late to intrude on you for a morning call ; 
but still I was determined to see you if I could — and I am 
very glad to see you. ” 

“This hour is pretty on the water I think,” said Ma- 
dame, looking pensively round, “the shadows from the 
trees and the clouds quiver on the river’s breast.” 

“I know what is prettier than either the shadows or 
the clouds,” answered Gilmore ardently, with his eyes 
fixed on«her face. 

She smiled, but made no answer, and the next moment 
bent forward and dipped one of her beautiful hands into 
the water, and Gilmore saw that on her slim fingers she 
wore several valuable rings. 

“ Would you like to row a little further up the stream f ” 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


278 

he asked; “because, if so, I shall be delighted to have 
the honor of rowing you/' 

But Madame gently shook her head. 

“No,” she said, “but if Lord Gilmore will land I shall 
be glad to show him over my poor house.” 

“Only too happy,” said Gilmore eagerly, and then 
Madame beckoned with languid grace to Juan to pull in 
her boat, which was secured to the stockade by a tow 
rope, while a few strokes of his oar brought Gilmore's 
boat also to the landing-place. 

He sprang quickly out to assist her, and then, side-by- 
side, they walked together up the garden of the villa, and 
Madame told Gilmore she had expected to see him in the 
morning. 

“ I thought perhaps you might come, so I sat in my 
little arbor beneath the trees, and listened to the singing 
of the birds. That is my arbor,” and she pointed to a 
rustic seat placed below the spreading boughs of some 
trees. 

“Shall we sit there now ? ” said Gilmore. 

“If you wish it, yes — and you can talk to me there 
and tell me all about your past days.” 

“I do indeed wish it — and I feel as if I could tell you 
everything.” 

They sat down together on the seat, and Madame be- 
gan smilingly to question Gilmore. 

“And are you a bachelor?” she said. 

“Yes,” untruthfully and unblushingly affirmed Gil- 
more. 

“That is strange,” said Madame, as if musingly. 

“ I may not always be one, you know.” 

“ No, my lord will be wedding some pretty blue-eyed 
English miss.” 

“I like dark eyes better than blue ones — dark eyes 
full of fire and beauty like — but perhaps you will be an- 
gry with me, Madame, if I go on.” 

“ What do you want to say ? ” 

“I was going to say like yours — I never saw such eyes 
before. ” 

“ Perhaps my lord has said that to many wotnen ? ” 

“No, I’ve not,” answered Gilmore bluntly; “many 
women could not make me feel as you do, Madame.” 

“ Hark ! listen ! ” she said the next moment laying one 
of her supple white fingers for an instant on his arm ; 
“ hear yon bird telling his love tale.” 


Lady Gilmore's temptation. 


279 

It was a robin singing to his mate, pouring forth his 
clear notes from one of the topmost branches of a tree 
near them. 

They sat in silence for a short while after this— a danger- 
ous silence to Gilmore, who every moment felt the subtle 
attraction of this woman becoming stronger to him. They 
sat until the moon rose, and the dusk stole around them, 
and Gilmore utterly forgot that May would be waiting 
dinner for him, and be naturally uneasy at his lengthened 
absence. Then, at last, Madame gave a little shiver and 
rose. 

“The night grows chill,’' she said; “my lord must 
come again and talk to me ; ” and she held out her white 
hand in token of farewell, and Gilmore bent down and 
ardently kissed it. 

“You make me too happy by giving me permission 
to do so,” he said. “What hour to-morrow may I 
come ? ” 

“Come and have lunch — that will be best — then we 
can have a long, long talk.” 

They settled it thus, and lingeringly and unwillingly 
Gilmore left her, and when he reached the landing-place, 
found Juan smoking, and actually fishing by moonlight ! 
The Spaniard grinned out his white teeth, and assisted 
Gilmore to push off his boat, though they mutually could 
not understand a word the other said, and Gilmore left a 
gold piece in the Spaniard’s swarthy palm. 

Then he rowed down the river, in the gleaming moon- 
light, breaking forth into snatches of song, as his boat 
glided through the water. He was in truth so excited 
that he could not hide it from May’s anxious eyes, when 
he reached home, who eagerly inquired where he had 
been. 

“ I met a fellow in the town, who had a horse to sell, 
and 1 went to see him,” answered Gilmore with affected 
carelessness, “and we got on talking — but I’m sorry 
you’ve waited for me, May, you should have got your 
dinner.” 

“No Gerard, I could not do that,” she answered ; and 
then the two sat down to dinner, and May noticed he 
scarcely ate anything, and that his face was flushed, and 
his eyes sparkling, and that he was a great deal more 
silent than his wont. 


280 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE TIGHTENING OF THE CHAIN. 

He kept his promise and went the next day to have 
lunch with Madame de Costa — telling May he was going 
up the river with some men — and he sat in the sunny 
garden, and listened again to the singing of the birds, and 
to the sweet, low voice by his side. 

Everything in the villa told of ease of circumstances, 
except the small number of domestic attendants. The 
dark-browed Spanish woman waited at the table, and the 
dark-browed Spaniard cooked the meal. But what did 
this matter to Gilmore ? He was not thinking of the dishes 
before him, but of the beautiful woman whose face haunted 
him when he was absent from her, and from whose 
features when she was present his hazel eyes could not 
stray. 

The food, it must be admitted, had a strong flavor of 
garlic, but the wine which Madame de Costa offered her 
guest was of rare vintage, and great price, and Gilmore 
drank of it freely, and the generous beverage loosed his 
tongue. He found himself telling her the romantic story 
of his babyhood, boyhood and youth, and how his brother 
“a conceited stuck-up fool of a fellow/’ took everything 
he could get from him, and yet, actually had not the 
decency to be civil. 

“ I cut his face for him once, though,” added Gilmore 
with a laugh, and he never noticed Madame’s expression 
as he spoke. “He said something impudent to me, and 
I flung a wine-glass at his head, and serve him right ! ” 

Madame said no word ; she rose from the table hastily 
while he went on boasting, and presently proposed that 
they should go and sit under the trees, in the garden, and 
that Isabel should carry the wine there. Gilmore was 
delighted to do this, and began telling Madame of his 
great wealth, and of the splendors of Wrothsley, and 
once he accidentally mentioned the name of his brothers 
wife. 

“And what is she like ? ” asked Madame turning sud- 


LAD V GILMORE'S TEMPT A TIOJV. 2 8 1 

denly round, and looking at him with her great eyes lit 
with suppressed emotion, “This wife?" 

“A great deal too good for him," answered Gilmore; 
“ she’s very pretty for one thing, and for another she’s a 
sweet little girl, and I really like her — they have got a 
boy now." 

“Ah — ," and with a quick movement Madame put her 
hand to her heart as if in sudden pain, and grew deadly 
pale. 

“You are not ill, are you? " asked Gilmore, looking at 
her. 

“It was a spasm — I have them sometimes — " 

“Why, you have grown quite pale," said Gilmore more 
anxiously; “let me give you some wine, and do let me 
persuade you to drink it." 

He poured out some of the sparkling champagne as he 
spoke, and handed it to Madame, who eagerly drank it. 

“It soothes pain," she said with a half bitter laugh ; 
“It makes us forget." 

“You are looking better now — you gave me quite a 
fright, do you know." 

“It is good of my lord to say so — but come, we must 
not get sad. Do you love the mandoline? Juan and 
Isabel do sing to it — the songs of their native land." 

“I should like to hear them." 

“I shall bid them commence then, and return in a few 
moments to my lord, who must smoke his cigarettes 
meanwhile." 

She rose as she spoke, and returned to the villa, and 
was absent nearly a quarter-of-an-hour, and all the while 
Gilmore was thinking of her and her wondrous beauty, 
though he did not neglect also to quench his thirst occa- 
sionally with the good wine before him, and took Ma- 
dame’s advice concerning the cigarettes. 

Then she came back and sat by his side, having now 
flung a black Spanish lace mantilla round her shapely 
head, and fastened a yellow rosebud in her hair, as if 
purposely to enhance her rich loveliness; and scarcely 
had she returned, when unseen somewhere beneath the 
trees, the mandoline players began to sing. 

The woman commenced the first verse in a full con- 
tralto voice, and Juan answered from a distant part of the 
garden probably from his favorite seat on the stockade by 
the river edge — in passionate and melodious strains. 


282 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


“They are singing of love,” said Madame softly. 

“ No other theme would be suitable here,” answered 
Gilmore ardently, “to be here and not to love would be 
impossible.” 

“And does my lord feel happy here ?” 

“Happy! only too happy — when I am here I forget 
everything else — my whole soul is here.” 

And so he went on talking folly, and the beautiful wo- 
man by his side listened with smiles and sighs. She had 
not the resources of an Englishwoman in conversation, 
and had to make up with semi-tender glances of her lus- 
trous eyes, and pretty flatteries which Gilmore’s vain heart 
loved. He made another appointment with her before 
he left her, and the next day went up to town to purchase 
some jewel that he thought would be worthy of her ac- 
ceptance, and in his open-handed generous fashion threw 
away many hundreds on the bauble. 

But to his great surprise, Madame refused to accept his 
gift. 

“No, I take no gifts,” she said, drawing back. 

“ But surely a little thing like this — just to please me,” 
pleaded Gilmore. 

But no — Madame was firm — she would accept nothing, 
and Gilmore was forced to carry his diamonds away with 
him, but left Madame more infatuated than ever. 

And so days stole on, and weeks, and Gilmore used to 
sit in the sunny garden, and listen to the mandoline 
players and the birds, and never grow weary. He knew 
nothing of stormy scenes which took place, sometimes 
there, when he was absent ; nothing of a rare and secret 
visitor who went and stole away, always in the dark 
hours. When he was at the villa there were only soft 
words spoken, and soft sounds heard. Juan sat fishing 
all day long, apparently, with his mandoline ofttimes 
lying beside him, and would grin and open his greedy 
palms, for the gold coins which Gilmore so freely thrust 
into them. 

He never saw the ugly looks which followed his de- 
parting footsteps; never dreamed of any evil, except the 
dream of false love, in which he was daily becoming 
faster and faster entangled. He would not even listen 
now to poor May’s entreaties to have their marriage 
acknowledged ; and would make her no promise when it 
would be. She could not understand what had come over 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


283 

him and changed him so, for Gilmore kept his visits to 
the riverside villa a profound secret, and never once 
breathed Madame de Costa’s name. 

At last towards the end of April — on the 28th — as they 
stood alone together beneath the trees in the garden, just 
about a month after they had first met, in ardent and im- 
passioned language, Gilmore dared to speak of the love 
which now so completely filled his heart. 

And the woman to whom he spoke, listened as though 
half reluctantly; listened with downcast eyes and heaving 
breast. But she let her hands rest in his, and did not 
reproach him for his fond and eager words. 

“If you could love me only a little — ever so little , ” 
pleaded Gilmore. 

“Must it be a little ? ” she whispered beneath her breath, 
and as the words past her lips, Gilmore caught her in his 
arms, and poured the most passionate vows and protes- 
tations in her shrinking ears. 

The next day — April 29th — he told May he was going 
up to town by the night train to attend a ball given by 
one of his bachelor friends, but that he would be back the 
following morning probably by mid-day at latest. 

He dined at home, but left the Rookery in time to catch 
a late train up to London, and told May that he preferred 
to walk to the station. He had sent on some luggage 
addressed to his bachelor rooms in Piccadilly during the 
morning, and he wore a thin overcoat when he started. 
May went with him to the hall door, but when she raised 
her face to give him a farewell kiss, he hesitated a mo- 
ment, and then stooped down and kissed her on the 
brow. 

“Take care of yourself,” he said, not unkindly, and 
after shaking hands with her he went out, and disap- 
peared in the darkness, for the night was wet and gloomy, 
and May was left to her own sad thoughts. 

She sat down wearily after he was gone, for she was 
quite sure in her own heart now that Gilmore had ceased 
to love her. She sat while the wind began to moan about 
the house, and the rain beat against the window panes. 
It blew a complete storm presently, carrying May’s 
thoughts back to the wild northern coast where she had 
been born, and to the father she had forsaken. 

She sighed heavily, still thinking of the old man, and 


284 A bitter birthright , ; OR, 

his sorrow and loneliness. Perhaps the love which had 
failed her, and grown so cold in Gilmore’s heart, was a 
tit punishment for her fault she thought. And that night 
she dreamed of John Sumners, and saw his rugged and 
workworn face looking at her earnestly, with love still 
shining in his honest eyes. 

And she drearped, too, of a black shadow dogging 
Gilmore’s footsteps in the darkness — a thing of evil she 
could not see — hidden, impalpable, and yet there; and the 
poor young wife awoke with a cry of horror, and shud- 
deringly covered her face, and lay with beating fearful 
heart listening to the moaning of the wind. 

And another young wife awoke also that night pale 
and afraid in the midnight hours, for she heard her baby 
cry. The storm was at its height, raging over London as 
it was raging over the dark waters of the Thames, as it 
rolled on through green fields and willowed sedges, long 
ere it reached the foulness of the great city. And as the 
blast howled by the little house that looked on the park 
where Nancy lived, it roused the child lying in the cot, 
and awoke the mother from her light and restless slum- 
bers. 

Nancy rose and went to the babe and lifted it in her arms, 
and pillowed its head upon her breast, trying to soothe it 
with her tender words. It seemed still uneasy and dis- 
turbed, and so she began walking up and down the room 
with it, crooning to it softly as she went. Then the baby 
put up its small pink hand against her cheek and Nancy 
tenderly kissed the little palm. 

“My darling ! ” she whispered, gazing down fondly on 
its face. 

Yes, she had her boy, she told herselt ; her baby to love 
and cling to, whatever else might change. It was a 
month now since she had come to this house, and during 
this time Hugh Gifford’s varying moods, and strange 
unsettled habits had filled her heart with vague and 
constant uneasiness. 

She could not understand him, in fact, for one day he 
would seem fond to her, and the next cold and harsh. 
Often she thought of the handsome lover who had wooed 
her in the dim corridor at Wrothsley, and wondered if the 
moody man, who came and went at uncertain hours, 
could really be the same? 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


285 

A rumor, too, reached her ears that Hugh Gifford now 
gambled heavily, and in the evenings he was rarely at 
home. Still Nancy had her child — the beautiful boy"who 
smiled in her face, and whom she used to take to her 
mother’s house, and exhibit with great pride his baby 
feats, and wonderful intelligence ! Hugh Gifford, too, was 
fond of his little son, and proud also of his remarkable 
likeness to himself. 

Miss Gifford had been once to town for a few days to 
visit them, and always spoke of Nancy’s baby as “my 
boy.” She had arranged also that Nancy and the child 
were to stay with her in the autumn, and she insisted upon 
paying all expenses connected with him. 

“ He is my heir, and I can afford it,” she would say, 
and Nancy was obliged to let the wilful old lady have 
her own way, and certainly Master Thomas was always 
dressed like a prince. 

So up and down on this stormy night — the 29th of April 
— Nancy kept walking with her baby in her arms. The 
bedroom was dimly lighted by the firelight only, and a 
nightlight, but the door of the dressing-room, where Hugh 
1 Gifford slept, was open, and there the gas was burning. 

It was past midnight now, and as Nancy went by the 
dressing-room door she glanced in to see if her husband 
was asleep, as she was afraid the baby’s crying might 
awaken him. But the room was empty ; Hugh Gifford 
had not come in, and nearly an hour passed before he did 
so. By this time the baby had fallen asleep, but Nancy 
did not put him back in his cot, but laid him in her own 
bed, and sat by his side watching him. 

Tick, tick went the clock; howling round and down the 
chimneys swept the blast, splashing against the window 
panes came the rain. Suddenly Nancy heard the handle 
of the dressing-room door turn, and a man’s hasty footsteps 
enter the room. She rose quickly, meaning to warn Hugh 
Gifford to make as little noise as possible so as not to 
wake the child. 

With noiseless footsteps she crossed the room, and stole 
to the dressing-room door, which was slightly ajar. What 
made her start, grow pale, and with difficulty suppress 
the exclamation that rose on her lips ? There stood Hugh 
Gifford, and the gaslight fell on his pale, haggard, even 
ghastly, face. And his expression — the expression of hor- 
ror, loathing and fear — that distorted his features, terrified 
Nancy, who drew back afraid and trembling. 


286 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


He never saw her as she crouched there ; never saw her 
as he poured out some brandy, and drank it without stop- 
ping, and then began to tear off his overcoat, and flung 
something large, round and heavy, that he was carrying, 
with absolute loathing on the floor. Again he drank 
some brandy, then Nancy saw him lift the thing he had 
flung away, and push it into one of his wardrobes, and 
carefully lock the door after he had done this, and then 
place the key in his dressing case, which he also locked. 

Then he began to take off his drenched clothes, but 
that awful expression never for one moment left his face ; 
and presently Nancy, pale, and shaking in every limb, 
stole away from the door, and crept into bed beside her 
baby, holding it closely to her breast as if to guard and 
protect it. 

And the wind howled on, and the dark hours fleeted by, 
but Nancy never slept. It was growing light, when a 
sort of cry from the dressing-room suddenly startled her, 
and set her heart beating wildly. Again she crept out of 
bed, and stole to the dressing-room door, and peering in, 
saw Hugh Gifford lying on the bed talking wildly in his 
sleep. 

“Are you sure, quite sure, he is dead?’' she heard him 
say, “don’t for God’s sake put him in unless you are 
sure ! ” 

Then he went rambling on speaking words Nancy could 
not follow — using endearing phrases in some foreign 
tongue — mixed with weird haunting images of hidden 
crime and sudden death. It was terrible to listen to him ; 
so terrible that Nancy could not bear it, but crept back 
again to her baby’s side, and fell down on her knees by 
the bed, praying God to protect the little one from evil. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

WAITING FOR GERARD. 

The next morning, the 30th of April, was a fine day. 
That is, the sun shone out in fitful gleams between the 
broken, fast-drifting clouds, and as its rays stole through 
the blinds of May’s room at the Rookery, near Maiden- 
head, she rose, went to the window, drew up the blind, 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPT A TIOAT. 287 

and tried to shake off the depressing effects of her bad 
dreams of the night before. 

“I hope the wind was not so bad at sea,” she thought, 
pitifully, for her mind still lingered on the old days, and 
the old man who dwelt on the storm-washed coast. 
“Poor father,” she kept thinking softly, recalling how 
vividly his rugged, weather-beaten features had appeared 
to her in her dreams, and how kindly John Sumners’ 
blue eyes had gazed at his absent child. 

Then her thoughts turned to Gilmore — to “Gerard” — 
as she still always called him, and she kept musing on 
his strange fate. 

“We should have been far happier if they had never 
taken him from Cragside Farm,” she reflected, sadly 
enough; “ he would have been content with me then, 
and not ashamed of his wife as he is now. But I must 
just try to make the best of it, and dress and be more 
like the ladies that he mixes with, I suppose. 

In pursuance of this resolution poor May got out her 
last new morning gown — a delicate soft blue material 
trimmed with cream lace — which suited well her fair skin 
and light hair, and proceeded to adorn herself in it in 
expectation of her husband’s return. Then, after break- 
fast, she went into the rain-washed garden, the leaves 
still spangled with moisture, and selected some pink 
hyacinths to adorn her rooms, placing one also near her 
own pretty throat. After this she ordered lunch — taking 
care that the viands were those that Gilmore loved — and 
then she waited for him, but she waited in vain. 

Noon came, when he had said he would be back, and 
then the afternoon glided away, and still there was no 
sign of Gilmore. May was not exactly uneasy, because 
when he went up to town he sometimes remained a few 
days, but to do him justice he always let her know when 
he was going to do this. But when the evening came, 
and then night, and he was still absent, she began to be 
very anxious and afraid. 

And the night passed as the day had done, and then the 
next day, but on the third day May could bear it no 
longer. She therefore wrote an urgent letter to Gilmore 
at his rooms in Piccadilly, telling him how uneasy she 
was at not having heard from him, and asking him when 
he received her letter to telegraph a reply to it. 

She waited hour after hour for her telegram, and none 


288 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


came. She waited until the last post came in, and there 
was no letter, and then she felt sure that something 
must have happened to her husband. Could he be ill — 
or — and her heart seemed to faint within her, and her 
face grew deadly pale. Could he have left her for another ? 
He had been changed of late May knew well — changed 
and cold — and was this the ejad of it? 

May tortured herself by these surmises and miserable 
doubts all through a sleepless night, and then on the 
fourth day of Gilmore’s absence, she wrote to Mr. Whit- 
more, whose address she knew, and whom she knew also 
to be a friend of Gilmore’s, asking him if he knew any- 
thing of his whereabouts. 

To this letter she received a reply in the shape of a tel- 
egram from Mr Whitmore, on the same day that she 
sent it, to tell her that he would be at Maidenhead early 
the next morning. Then another sleepless night had to 
be borne — a night haunted by dire forebodings — and 
about twelve o’clock Mr. Whitmore arrived at the Rook- 
ery, and with trembling footsteps May went downstairs 
to hear his news. 

He had none to give her! He had neither seen nor 
heard of Gilmore, and could not understand his dis- 
appearance. 

‘‘He went up to town on the night of the 29th of 
April,” said May, with faltering lips ; “he said he would 
be home next day — he said he was going to a dance 
given by some bachelor friend of his — he left here in 
time to catch the nine train.” 

“It would be Escourt’s dance,” interrupted Mr. Whit- 
more eagerly, as May paused ; “ I was there and Escourt 
told me Gilmore was expected and we wondered that he 
never cast up, and the next morning ” 

But now Mr. Whitmore paused and hesitated, and cast 
down his eyes. 

“Oh, go on, go on,” cried May; “tell me all you 
know.” 

“I am afraid of alarming you — but still, I had better 
tell you, I think. Well, the next morning after Escourt’s 
dance, I went to Gilmore’s rooms in Piccadilly, as I 
thought he might be in town, and I saw the landlord. 
Gilmore had not arrived in town the night before, though 
he had been expected, for he had sent on a portmanteau 
there during the day, as he always did when he was com- 
ing up for the night, That is all I know, and the next 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPT A TIOM 289 

thing I heard of him was when I received your letter 
yesterday. ” 

“ Then — then something must have happened to him ! ” 
burst from May’s pale lips, and she clasped her hands 
together despairingly. 

“It is very strange, certainly ; suppose I go to the 
station here and inquire if he did go up to town on the 
night of the 29th ; they are sure to know him by sight 
there. ” 

“Oh ! yes, yes. Oh ! please go, Mr. Whitmore. Oh ! 
what shall I do ? ” 

“Don’t distress yourself, Mrs. May,” said Whitmore, 
kindly ; “ I dare say he’ll cast up all right ; he’s a thought- 
less fellow, you know, but he certainly should have writ- 
ten. However, I’ll go to the station and inquire.” 

And Mr. Whitmore did go to the station and inquire, 
and the stationmaster remembered the night of the 29th 
of April perfectly, because it was the night of the storm, 
the man said. 

“And do you know Lord Gilmore by sight? ’’asked 
Mr. Whitmore. 

“Oh ! yes, sir, very well indeed,” answered the station- 
master ; he constantly comes and hangs about the book- 
stalls here and gets the papers and that kind of thing, 
though I’ve not seen him for a day or two, when I think 
of it.” 

“And did he go up to town on the 29th of April in the 
nine o’clock train ? ” now inquired Whitmore. 

The stationmaster smiled. 

“Not in the nine, sir, but in the eleven train,” he 
| answered, “and to tell you the truth I thought his lordship 
was a bit on, when he came into the station to take his 
ticket, for he had a queer wild look altogether ; but, of 
course, there is no mistaking him on account of his 
figure.” 

“No, of course not, and you are quite sure he went up 
to town in the eleven train on that night ? ” 

“As sure as I am standing here, sir, I spoke to him 
and said what a wild night it was, and he answered some- 
what indistinctly, and that was what made me think he 
had taken a drop too much.” 

“It is very odd — he was expected at a dance in town 
that night, and he never appeared. I am really begin- 
ning to be afraid something has happened,” 

*9 


290 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


The stationmaster was, of course, all curiosity and 
sympathy, and Whitmore walked back to the Rookery, 
with a moody brow and an uneasy heart. He was 
forced to tell May what he had heard, and he could not 
deny that Gilmore’s disappearance was, to say the least, 
both alarming and mysterious. 

She broke into a passionate fit of tears when she heard 
what he had to tell her, and seemed overwhelmed with 
grief. 

“ Oh ! I dreamt that night something was following 
him ! ” she cried ; something evil. Oh ! Mr. Whitmore, 
what shall we do ? ” 

“Well, I think the best thing will be for me to go back 
to town at once, and if nothing has been heard of him at 
his rooms, or at his clubs, I think the police ought to be 
at once communicated with, and a regular search insti- 
tuted.” 

“He — may have been robbed — and ” wept May, 

who was sobbing as if her heart would break. 

“We must hope for the best — please do not distress 
yourself so dreadfully, Mrs. May — I will telegraph to you 
at once after I have made the inquiries in town.” 

“And — the stationmaster was — quite sure he went 
by the eleven train, not by the nine ? ” 

“Quite sure; and he said he seemed to have been 
drinking. Was he quite sober when he left here ? ” 

“Quite, quite sober; he w r ould take nothing at dinner 
but a little claret ; I noticed he took much less than 
usual.” 

“Then, he must have been somewhere you know in 
this place from nine o’clock until close on eleven when 
he went to the station. Does he know any of the people 
here?” 

“I don’t think he knows anyone; sometimes he goes 
with young men to the hotels, but very seldom ; young 
men who come down from London.” 

“I had best inquire here first then,” said Whitmore ; 
but no one had seen Lord Gilmore in Maidenhead on the 
night of the 29th of April, until he had gone to the sta- 
tion. 

Whitmore returned to the Rookery to tell May this and 
then started at once for town, leaving the poor young 
woman a prey to the most terrible anxiety. Hour after 
hour she spent paging her room with restless footsteps, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


291 

or going to the gateway of the garden looking eagerly 
out for the expected telegram from Whitmore. 

It came about seven o’clock and was very dishearten- 
ing : 

“ No one has seen or heard of him in town : have com- 
municated with the police ; one of the inspectors and 
myself will be with you early to-morrow. 

“Whitmore. ” 

Then when May read this she felt her cup of woe was 
full, and in passionate and brokenhearted accents she 
called on her father to come to her ; and the servants 
listening to her wild words, knew something dreadful had 
happened, and it began to be whispered about that the 
hunchbacked young lord had disappeared, and many 
strange surmises were made. 

“He’s just got tired of her and run away with some 
one else,” suggested the women. 

“ He was a wild young fellow, and was probably drunk 
when he got into the train, and some scoundrel has 
knocked him on the head for the sake of his watch, and 
purse, ’’said the men. 

“He must have been somewhere from nine to eleven 
o’clock,” said the police ; but the remarks made no one 
any wiser. 

Gilmore had left the Rookery about a quarter to nine 
o’clock on April 29th, and nothing more could be heard 
of him again in Maidenhead until he appeared at the 
station, at about five minutes to eleven o’clock. Where 
he had been in the interval no one could find out ; after 
he entered the train he was never seen more. 


CHAPTER XL. 
juan’s song. 

The next day the London detectives arrived at Maiden- 
head, but their inquiries elicited nothing further. They 
questioned May minutely regarding Gilmore’s habits, 
and learned from her that nearly every afternoon lately he 
had rowed in his boat alone up the river, 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


292 

“ Did he go on the 29th of April ? ” they asked. 

“ No; but he did the day before — on the 28th,” she 
answered. 

“Entirely alone ? ” 

“As far as I know, yes.” 

“ What time did lie return on the 28th ? ” 

“About half-past seven — in time for dinner.” 

“And he lived here?” asked one of the detectives, look- 
ing curiously at the pretty, though grief-stricken, young 
woman before him. 

“Generally — not always,” answered May, with a 
sudden blush. 

But she could tell them nothing but what she had 
already told Mr. Whitmore. She knew of no acquaint- 
ances that he had in Maidenhead she said, as the friends 
he had to visit him always came down from London. 
Then they went to the boathouse, where Gilmore’s two 
boats were kept. The man in charge of the boats entirely 
confirmed May’s account regarding Lord Gilmore going 
out to row alone nearly every afternoon lately. He used 
to start about half-past three o’clock, the boatkeeper said, 
and generally was back by seven. He did not go on the 
29th of April. 

“ Were the boats ever out that day at all ? ” 

“No, sir, never,” replied the man.” 

“Could Lord Gilmore have gone without your knowl- 
edge ? ” 

“ No, he could not ; I always keep the key of the 
boathouse, and go up each morning to the Rookery to 
get his lordship’s orders.” 

The detectives then decided to row up the river and 
inquire at the various villages, and locks, if anything was 
known of the missing lord. Several people up to a certain 
point in the river knew a young hunchbacked man by 
sight, who generally was alone in his boat, and also gener- 
ally wore a light blue cloth cap. But there was nothing 
to explain, or account, for his mysterious disappearance, 
especially as he had been seen since he could possibly 
have been on the river. 

But as Mr. Whitmore and the detectives were rowing 
down the river after their vain inquiries, one of them 
pointed out the little riverside villa where Madame de 
Costa dwelt. 

“That Spanish-looking fellow was .sitting fishing there 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


293 

when we went up,” said the detective, “and there he is 
fishing still — suppose we row in and ask him if he knows 
the hunchback lord by sight ? ” 

They followed this suggestion, and a few minutes later 
rowed up to the stockade where Juan was sitting fishing, 
rod in hand, with his mandoline lying on one of the props 
of the stockade beside him. 

Juan smiled politely as they approached, laid down his 
rod, and went to the landing stage to receive them. 

They addressed him in English, but Juan only shook 
his head, grinned out of his white teeth, and gave them to 
understand that he knew no English. Then Mr. Whit- 
more tried him with French, but again Juan shook his 
head, and began to tell them volubly in Spanish that that 
language was his native and only tongue. 

Neither Mr. Whitmore nor the detectives understood 
Spanish, and therefore it seemed hopeless to further ques- 
tion Juan \ but Mr. Whitmore smilingly pointed to Juan’s 
mandoline, and the black-browed, swarthy rogue instantly 
accepted this as an invitation to perform before them. 

He took up his poetic-looking instrument, to which 
long and varied colored narrow ribbons of deep, rich hues 
were attached, and having flung the ribbons over his 
shoulder, began to troll forth in his full, melodious voice 
some love ditty of his romantic land. 

His song was well worth listening to, and the whole 
appearance of the man was so picturesque and striking 
that Mr. Whitmore considered the performance quite worth 
the shilling which he flung at Juan’s feet, who, picking it 
up, grinned, took off his tall pointed hat, and seemed per- 
fectly satisfied with the impression he had made. 

“ He’s a fine-looking fellow,” said Whitmore as they 
rowed again into the open, “but he looks a bit of a scamp; 
I wonder who he belongs to ? ” 

“Probably to some Spanish merchant who is settled in 
town,” answered one of the detectives; “these people 
take these small places down the river for the summer 
months.” 

“ Most likely,” answered Whitmore carelessly, and then 
the subject was dropped ; and the little riverside villa 
where Gerard Lord Gilmore had sat so often of late soon 
faded from their view. 

And all their researches and inquiries proved as vain as 
this row up the river. Hundreds of people knew Lord 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


294 

Gilmore by sight, but no one knew anything about his 
movements on the 29th of April, the day he disappeared, 
except Mrs. May and the servants of the Rookery, and 
the station-master. Nothing would shake the station- 
master in the statement which he had made, that he had 
seen and spoken to Lord Gilmore on the evening of the 
29th of April, at a few minutes before eleven o'clock, and 
that he had seen him enter the train. 

“ If he left in the train, then it is no use looking for him 
at Maidenhead," the detectives decided, and therefore 
quitted the place, and a search along the whole line of 
railway from Maidenhead to town was at once insti- 
tuted. 

In the meanwhile poor May, unable any longer to en- 
dure the misery of her position, turned in her loneliness 
and wretchedness to the father whom she had forsaken. 
To the intense surprise of John Sumners, therefore, about 
a fortnight after the disappearance of Gilmore, the rural 
postman one morning delivered at his house a letter in 
his daughter’s handwriting. 

John’s rugged brown face flushed scarlet the moment 
his eyes fell upon it, and then he drew out his horn spec- 
tacles, and having with trembling hands adjusted them, 
began to read the piteous, heart-broken words. 

“My dearest father, — Perhaps you will be too angry 
with me to read this, yet if you knew all the misery and 
trouble I am in, I think you would not be. I know I be- 
haved very badly in leaving you as I did, but Gerard — 
my poor, poor Gerard — gave me no choice. We were 
engaged to be married when Gerard left Scarley, and 
when he became Lord Gilmore, he wrote to me to meet 
him in secret, and said he would keep his promise and 
marry me, but that our marriage must be kept a secret 
from everyone for the present. I prayed very hard to 
tell you, but he would not consent, and at last I gave in. 
We were married in London at a church all right, and 
then at another church because Gerard had been brought 
up a Roman Catholic. I loved him very dearly, dear 
father, and we were happy, though I fretted about you, and 
about people not knowing that we were married. But the 
dreadful part of my news is yet to come. A fortnight ago 
— on the 29th of April — Gerard told me he was going up to 
London to a dance which a bachelor friend of his intended 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


295 

to give on that night. I forgot to tell you that he has bought 
a house for me down here, and that he generally lives 
here, but he has rooms in London where he stays when he 
goes there. Dear father, he started in time to go to this 
dance, and I have never seen or heard of him again ! All 
sorts of cruel things are said about his disappearance, be- 
cause people do not know that we are really married, and 
some think he has just run away and left me. But I do 
not think this, because he has a good heart — I think some- 
thing dreadful has happened to him, and I am in utter 
misery about him. Dear father, will you forgive me and 
come to me in my great, great trouble ? I will not write 
any more for I am broken down with grief; but hoping 
soon to hear from you and see you. — I remain your affec- 
tionate daughter, 

“May.” 

John Sumners read this sorrowful letter twice, and then 
sank down on his knees in solemn heartfelt prayer. It 
had been more bitter than death to him, the thought that 
his child was living a life of shame, and the knowledge 
of her marriage swept a great black cloud from his soul. 
Long he knelt there, pouring forth in untutored language 
his thankfulness and gratitude ; praying as he had some- 
times prayed when in great danger on the deep ; when 
the mighty waves had opened as if to swallow him and 
his small craft, and yet He who made the sea and the 
wonders thereof had brought him safe to shore. 

When presently he rose from his knees and began to 
set his house in order, like a man going on a longjourney ; 
settling all his accounts, and drawing five hundred pounds 
from his bank, so as to have funds in hand to help his 
daughter. And having made all these arrangements he 
left Scarley without a word of farewell or boasting. He 
knew very well what had been said about May, but it 
was not the idle gossip that had cut him to the soul. He 
was a God-fearing man, with his face turned heavenwards, 
and the thought that his prayers had been answered, that 
his child had been given back to him, was too solemn for 
vain words. 

And two days later poor, unhappy May, who was be- 
ginning to receive cold looks from those around her — from 
those who had eaten her bread and belonged to her house- 
hold, because it was believed that the young lord who 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


296 

had protected her was either dead or had fled from her — 
two days later, then, after she had written to her father, as 
she sat sad and silent in one of the rooms which opened 
from the hall, she heard the door bell ring, and ever 
eagerly looking out for news she sprang to her feet and 
listened. 

And she heard a familiar voice — the voice of her father 
— and the next moment had rushed into the hall, and 
clasped him tightly in her arms. 

“Father ! Father ! ” she cried, with her cheek against 
his rugged one. 

John Sumners was a man of few words, and for a 
minute or two he did not speak, though his lips quivered 
as if about to do so. Then with his deep voice, broken 
with emotion, he said solemnly : 

“Thank God, my girl, thank God, I have found thee 
safe. ” 


CHAPTER XLI. 

A HAUNTING SHADOW. 

Again we must turn to the night of the 29th April, when, 
in the darkness and the storm, Lord Gilmore disappeared, 
and was seen no more. The morning after this night, 
Nancy rose pale, oppressed, and with the shadow of com- 
ing ill lying heavy on her heart. She was afraid to face 
her husband — to go into Hugh Giffords dressing-room, 
after the terrible words she had heard him mutter in his 
sleep ; and after seeing the terrible expression of his face 
as he stole into his room in the midnight hours. 

The nurse came for the child and she went down to 
breakfast, and after \vaiting till past ten o’clock, she at 
last reluctantly, slowly, went upstairs again, and passing 
through her own room rapped at Hugh Giffords door. 

Hearing something like a permission to enter, she went 
in, only to start back shocked and terrified. Hugh Gifford 
was in bed, and his face looked haggard and even ghastly, 
and he had evidently been drinking heavily. 

“Are you ill, Hugh?” faltered Nancy. 

“Ill ! ” he answered, with a drunken laugh, “ Tve got 
brain fever — brain fever — feel how it burns — it s coals on 
fire 1 ” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION*. 


*97 

“ Shall I bathe it for you ? ” asked Nancy, trembling. 

“ No, but reach the brandy — that’s a good girl ; there’s 
nothing like drink ; it drowns, it drowns everything.” 

“Oh ! don’t take any more, Hugh,” she prayed. 

“Give me it; I insist !” he shouted, starting up; but 
when Nancy went to the bottle of brandy which had been 
standing in his room she found it was empty. 

But he ordered her to ring the bell for another bottle, 
and went on drinking all day, and by night was in a rav- 
ing fever. But the pale young wife who tried to control 
him allowed no one else to enter his room, and dare not 
send for a physician. Strange words broke from his lips ; 
a haunting shadow of horror seemed ever to pursue him ; 
and again and again Nancy listened with a sinking heart 
to the words she had heard last night. 

“ Don’t do it unless you are sure he is dead ; don’t put 
him in alive ! ” 

All night Nancy sat up with him, and towards morning 
he grew very prostrate. He then became a little calmer, 
and at last fell into a heavy sleep, from which he awoke 
about eleven o’clock the next day — pale, exhausted, and 
very ill ; but sober. He lay still without speaking for 
some time, and Nancy noticed that his eyes fell when 
they met hers, and that he moved uneasily. Presently 
he said : 

“I’ve made a tremendous fool of myself, I am afraid, 
Nancy ; but some men gave a swell dinner at the club 
and I drank far more than was good for me, and have 
been very near brain fever or delirium tremens , I believe — 
and I daresay have been going on in a very absurd way.” 

“But you are better now, Hugh,” answered Nancy, 
soothingly. 

“I feel bad enough, I can tell you ; I hope you did not 
let anyone else see me make an ass of myself? ” 

“I have been with you all the time, Hugh — no one 
else.” 

“That’s all right, then; now I’ll try to get to sleep 
again.” 

But he did not easily recover, and was in bed more than a 
week after the stormy night of the 29th of April, when he 
had returned home in such a terrible state. All this time 
Nancy nursed him, and gave out in the household that he 
was laid up with a very severe cold, and that he could 
not bear to be disturbed. He asked for the newspapers 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT i OR, 


298 

and his letters, and one morning- before he was awake, 
Nancy having carried up the morning papers for him, sat 
down to read one of them until he roused himself and 
was ready for his breakfast. 

And she had not read long before a paragraph caught 
her eyes, which, as she read and re-read it, seemed abso- 
lutely to swim before her. 

It was headed “The Missing Lord,” and detailed the 
strange facts that we already know. How Lord Gilmore 
had mysteriously disappeared, and had been last seen by 
the station-master, at Maidenhead, at five minutes before 
eleven o’clock, on the night of the 29th of April. 

The 29th of April ! Nancy gasped for breath, and men- 
tally counted back the last seven days. As she did so a 
sharp physical pain darted through her heart, and she had 
the greatest difficulty in restraining the cry that nearly 
escaped her whitening lips. That was the night Hugh 
returned in the midnight hours with the fixed look of hor- 
ror on his face ; the night when he had begun to drink — 
what could it all mean ? 

She grew faint and cold, and grasped the chair on 
which she was sitting for support. No one knew as well 
as she did how Hugh Gifford had hated his elder brother 
with a deadly hatred that never grew less. She had in- 
deed ceased to mention the elder brother’s name, as she 
saw it was but a vain thing to attempt to reconcile them. 
And that he should have disappeared — Gerard — filled 
Nancy’s heart with the direst apprehension. 

Presently she ro§e and tottered from the room, giving 
one look of fear, of terror, at the face of the sleeping man 
lying on the bed, as she went out. She was quite over- 
come, and going into her pretty drawing-room, the door 
of which happened to be open as she passed it, she sat 
down there, and covered her face with her hands. 

Long she sat, the most terrible thoughts crowding 
through her mind. Then a kind of piteous cry burst 
from her quivering lips. 

“For baby’s sake — for baby’s sake,” she repeated, 
rocking herself to and fro. Yes, for the child’s sake, she 
was telling herself, she must hide in her own heart the 
haunting shadow that ever after would pursue her foot- 
steps. She must keep her fears hidden from Hugh, from 
everyone. If Gerard were dead Hugh would be again 
Lord Gilmore — and Nancy shuddered at the thought. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION . 


299 

About half-an-hour later she heard Hugh’s bell ring, 
and trembling still in every limb she crept upstairs and 
found him sitting up in bed, reading the very paper which 
had caused her this terrible shock. 

“Well,” he said, as she entered the room, “there’s 
some news about our family in this paper, I see — my 
worthy elder brother has run away ! ” 

He spoke in a bitter, mocking tone, and it seemed im- 
possible to Nancy to answer him ; and Hugh Gifford 
looking suddenly and suspiciously -at her saw the pallor 
of her face. 

“ Have you seen it? ” he asked quickly. 

“I saw Gilmore was missing,” answered Nancy with 
difficulty. 

Hugh Gifford gave a harsh, forced laugh. 

“Missing with some lady-love, no doubt!” he said, 
scornfully. “ I heard there was a girl he lived with down 
the river somewhere ; no doubt he has got tired of her 
and has run away — he’ll cast up.” 

Nancy said nothing more. She moved about the room 
and rang for Hugh’s breakfast, and she thought by the 
face of the man-servant who carried it in, that he had 
heard the news too. It had already, indeed, been dis- 
cussed. downstairs and freely commented on. If Gerard, 
Lord Gilmore, were dead, then Hugh Gifford was the 
next heir, they all said, and they respected the next heir 
accordingly. 

There were many versions of course of the same story, 
but the most generally received one \vas that the unfor- 
tunate young hunchbacked lord had been intoxicated 
when he entered the train, and been murdered for his 
money while in a state of semi-insensibility. What had 
become of his body no one could tell, but the whole line 
of railway was being searched, and it was proposed to 
offer a large reward for its recovery. 

It naturally was greatly talked of. Hugh Gifford had 
of course been well known in society as Lord Gilmore, 
and the strange events which had deprived him of the 
title were also well known. It was strange if it should 
so soon go back to him, people said ; therefore the 
efforts of the police were followed with the keenest 
interest. Only Hugh Gifford affected utter indifference 
about it, and would shrug his shoulders when it was 
mentioned to him. 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


300 

“He will cast up, you will see,” he said, when he re- 
appeared after his illness at his clubs, and some of his 
friends began talking to him of his brothers strange dis- 
appearance ; and he said the same to Nancy at home ; 
the same to his mother when, some rumor having 
reached her ears about her eldest son, Lady Gilmore 
wrote to Hugh to make inquiries. 

But during all these days the most miserable anxiety 
hung over Nancy’s heart, and told so visibly on her ap- 
pearance, that when her old friend Major Erne called one 
afternoon to see her, he felt absolutely shocked. She 
was pale with violet rims around her heavy eyes, in 
which there was a strange new look of fear. 

“Have you been ill? ” asked Erne with real concern. 

“Eve not been feeling very well ; I get nervous head- 
aches,” answered Nancy without looking at his face. 

“I am so sorry ; you ought to go down and stay with 
Miss Gifford for change at Gateford. She told me that I 
was to be sure to call on you, and also to be sure to ask 
to see your little son.” 

“Poor little baby ! ” said Nancy, with tremulous lips. 

“Rich little baby ! I think,” smiled Erne. 

Nancy sighed, and Erne could not understand how 
even the baby now failed apparently to make Nancy’s 
heart more light. 

“And this story about your brother-in-law,” he said 
presently. “ How much of it is true? ” And he noticed 
that Nancy grew paler as he spoke. 

“ I know nothing but what I have seen in the papers,” 
she answered. “ My — husband was ill at the time when 
Lord Gilmore is said to have disappeared, and I was nurs- 
ing him, and we heard nothing of it for days — Hugh says 
he is sure to cast up again.” 

“Yet the police think very seriously of the case, I be- 
lieve. ” 

“ It certainly does seem most strange. What does Miss 
Gifford think about it?” 

“Oh, Miss Gifford thinks perhaps it is only a freak 
— that Lord Gilmore has perhaps run away with some- 
one. ” 

“Well, we shall know soon, I suppose,” said Nancy 
nervously. 

“Time clears up most of things,” answered Erne. “But 
you must let me see her boy, as Miss Gifford calls your 
son, or I dare not face the old lady.” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


301 

Nancy smiled and went out of the room to fetch her 
baby, and returned with him in her arms. A handsome 
little fellow this, who put out his small hand and grasped 
one of Major Erne’s brown fingers, who stooped down 
and kissed the little fist. 

“He looks remarkably well; he is certainly a lucky 
little chappie,” said Erne smiling. 

“Who knows,” answered Nancy. “Who can tell?” 
And she sighed, and then tenderly kissed the baby’s face. 

They were still talking of him, when another visitor 
was announced, and to Nancy’s great surprise Father 
Hayward was ushered into the drawing-room. 

The good priest looked very serious, and having shaken 
hands with Nancy and Major Erne, he asked Nancy if her 
husband was in the house. 

“ I have some strange news for him,” he said gravely. 

“Not about — Gerard?” asked Nancy, with unmistak- 
able agitation. 

“Yes, about Lord Gilmore,” answered Father Hay- 
ward. 

“ Have — they found him, then ? ” almost gasped Nancy. 

The priest shook his head. 

“Unhappily not — but can I see Mr. Gifford ? ” 

With trembling hands Nancy rang the bell, and inquired 
of the servant if her husband was at home. 

The footman thought not, but went to see, and a few 
moments later returned to the drawing-room, and said Mr. 
Gifford was out. 

“Then can I speak to you ? ” said the priest. 

“Yes — of course,” faltered Nancy. 

Upon this Major Erne took his leave, and the nurse was 
sent for to take the baby ; and Nancy found herself alone 
with Father Hayward. 

“We had a strange visitor at Wrothsley yesterday,” he 
began. “ But will you not sit down, Mrs. Gifford? You 
have grown so pale.” 

Then Nancy sat down, and with a white face and beat- 
ing heart listened to the priest’s news. 


302 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 


CHAPTER XXXII. 
father hayward’s news. 

“I was telling you,” repeated Father Hayward, “that 
we had a strange visitor yesterday at Wrothsley, but 
happily I met him just at the entrance of the Castle, and 
was able to prevent him having an interview with Lady 
Gilmore ; but his communication to me was such an 
important one that I lost no time in coming to town to 
test its truth. ” 

“Important!” repeated Nancy, who could scarcely 
restrain her agitation. 

“ Most important — but I must tell you about our strange 
visitor. Well, just as I was about to enter the Castle, 

I perceived a seafaring looking man standing talk- 
ing to one of the footmen in a very earnest fashion. 

I was just about to pass the two and go into the library, 
which room, as you know 7 , is ahvays open to me, when 
Graham, the footman, addressed me.” 

“ ‘ Your reverence/ he said, ‘ this person insists on see- 
ing her ladyship, but I tell him it is impossible, so per- 
haps you 'would kindly persuade him to go? ' 

“Then I turned to the seafaring looking man, who 
was of rugged, but honest countenance.” 

“ ‘ It is impossible for you to see Lady Gilmore/ I said, 

‘ but if you have any message for her ladyship I can carry 
it to her/ 

“The man answered determinedly — 

“ ‘ I must see Lady Gilmore/ he said, ‘ it is a matter 
of life and death, and relates to her eldest son/ 

“‘You mean Lord Gilmore?’ I asked now, greatly 
interested, as I thought perhaps this person could give 
us some clue as to his disappearance. 

“‘They call him Lord Gilmore now/ answered the 
man, ‘but I have known him by another name/ 

“ ‘ Come into the library and talk to me/ I said, and I 
led the way thither, and the man followed me. When 
we got there, and I had shut the door, I told him he 
could as safely confide in me any communication he 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


303 

had to make as to Lady Gilmore herself, as I was her 
priest and confessor, and intimately acquainted with the 
whole family circumstances. 

“ He hesitated a moment, looked me keenly in the face, 
with a pair of clear, honest blue eyes, and then began 
his story, which I will try to. relate as nearly in his own 
words as I can. 

“ ‘I am called John Sumners,’ he said, ‘and I am a 
boatbuilder at a village called Scarley.’ 

“ ‘Scarley? ’ I interrupted, for I had been to Scarley. 

“‘Aye,’ he answered, ‘Scarley, where the lad who 
was called Gerard Brewster was reared, and this lad was 
my daughter’s sweetheart. Sir,’ he went on, with 
strange energy and passion, ‘ I cursed that lad the last 
time I saw him, for I believed he’d wronged my girl ! 
They were engaged to be wedded, it seems, when he 
left Scarley, and came to this place, and they made him 
a grand lord. But I have naught to do with that ; what 
I have to do with is my girl.’ 

“ ‘ Then you know nothing of Lord Gilmore’s disappear- 
ance ? ’ I asked. 

“‘Wait a bit, I am coming to that,’ he answered. 
‘Well, some months back my girl disappeared,’ he con- 
tinued ; ‘I parted with her one night, and in the morning 
I she was gone, and I was like a man demented for many 
a day. She’s my only one, sir, and a better lass never 
lived, and I could believe no ill of her. Yet folks began 
| to say that she’d gone off with Gerard Brewster, because 
they had made him into a lord, and that he was too 
I grand to wed my girl, and that she was his light-o’- 
| love.’ 

“ ‘ Was this so, then ? ’ I inquired. 

“ ‘I will tell you directly, sir ; I went up to London 
! and taxed him with wronging my girl, face to face, and 
he denied it. I offered never to see her again if he would 
: wed her, and told him I would settle my bit of money on 
I her, but he still denied he knew anything about her, 
though I saw he was lying by his face. And though I 
• tried hard to see him again I could not — they said he 
had gone abroad — so I just went back home, with my 
| heart well-nigh broken o’ thinking of the poor lass — and 
; until three days ago I heard nothing more.’ 

“ ‘Then you have heard from her ? ’ I said. 

‘Heard from her, and seen her, both ; I got a letter 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


304 

from her to tell me that she was in sore distress— 
that she was wed to Gerard Brewster, Lord Gilmore, 
now ' 

“ ‘ Married ! ' I exclaimed. 

“ ‘Aye, married as fast as the church could make her, 
for Gerard had kept his word to her, and they were wed- 
ded in two churches to make it sure, on the very day she 
went to him. But the lad has disappeared, and his poor 
young wife is in bitter distress, for there’s a baby com- 
ing, and I thought it but right to come and tell his 
mother the whole story, so that something more might 
be done to find him.’ 

“These were the man’s very words, Mrs. Gifford,” con- 
tinued Father Hayward, “and it was with difficulty I 
could persuade him to delay his communication to 
Lady Gilmore, on account of the delicate state of her 
health, and the danger of any sudden shock. I told him 
I would see him again to-day, and I have ascertained in 
the meanwhile that it is perfectly true that his daughter 
is Lord Gilmore’s legal wife ; and I called to tell her hus- 
band this news, and also to say that the time has now 
come, I think, when the family should offer a large re- 
ward for any authentic clue of Lord Gilmore’s mysterious 
disappearance.” 

Nancy had listened to the good priest’s words with 
breathless interest, down-cast eyes, and a fast beating 
heart. Then, as he paused, she suddenly looked up. 

“And what do you think about it?” she said quickly. 
“ My husband always says he is sure to be heard of soon 
— I mean Gerard ? ” 

“And what reason has he for thinking so?” asked the 
priest, quietly. 

“Oh, he knows nothing — he only saw about it in the 
newspapers, you know,” continued Nancy, yet more 
hastily. “ He was ill in bed when it happened — we read 
about it when he was in bed.” 

“They have never become friends, have they? ” 

“Never! Hugh has never seen him, nor spoken to 
him since that unfortunate quarrel they had at Wrothsley. 
Poor Gerard, I most earnestly trust nothing has happened 
to him — and what misery for his poor young wife ! ” 

“By her father’s account she is in the most bitter dis- 
tress, and I mean to go down to see her at Maidenhead, 
to-day, and hear from her own lips all the details of 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


3°5 


Lord Gilmore’s disappearance. Her father seems an 
honest, straightforward working man — but it’s a sad 
thing, Mrs. Gifford, such a marriage as this — it seems 
as though the evil springing from Lady Gilmore’s fatal 
error would never end.” 

“It has brought great, great trouble certainly,” an- 
swered Nancy, with quivering lips. 

She was thinking how it had changed Hugh Gifford ; 
how the light-hearted, careless man had become morose, 
gloomy and dissatisfied ; and now the news of his elder 
brother’s marriage was sure still further to embitter him. 

“Will you then tell your husband what I have said,” 
added Father Hayward, rising; “I shall now go down 
to Maidenhead, and see the new Lady Gilmore, and hear 
everything she has got to say, and then to-morrow I 
should like to call again here, and consult with Mr. 
Gifford what would be the best steps to take under the 
circumstances ? ” 

“I will tell Hugh,” said Nancy with some hesitation. 

“Please do; I will call here to-morrow morning at 
eleven o’clock, and will you kindly ask Mr. Gifford to 
see me then ? ” 

Nancy promised that she would do so, and then she 
asked after Lady Gilmore, and the children at Wrothsley. 

“ Lady Gilmore is better, but still very frail, and I ab- 
solutely dread the effect of this news upon her. She 
misses you very much, and is always talking of the time 
when you and your little son will return to Wrothsley. 
You will come to her, will you not, if any fresh trouble 
falls ? ” 

“Yes,” said Nancy in a low tone ; for it seemed to her 
that moment that fresh trouble was very near. 

Then after a few further words Father Hayward went 
away, and Nancy stood thinking of the task which lay 
before her. She had to tell her husband of her brother’s 
marriage with a girl of lowly birth ; to tell him that prob- 
ably the last chance had passed away, that his own son 
would never inherit the title, for Hugh Gifford had always 
persisted that Gerard would never marry. And it was 
therefore with absolute dread that late in the afternoon — • 
only just in time to dress for dinner — Nancy heard Hugh 
Gifford go into his dressing-room, and a minute later 
with trembling fingers, she rapped at the door. 

“Come in,” he called, and Nancy went in, and Hugh 
looked around and nodded as she did so, 

20 


306 a bitter birthright , ; or, 

“ Well, Nancy, any news ? ” he said carelessly. 

•“I have got some news, Hugh,” she answered in a 
low tone. 

“I hope it’s good then, or I don’t want to hear it.” 

‘‘It’s something very strange — Father Hayward has 
been here, Hugh — ” 

“Nothing about my mother, I hope ?” 

“No, but yesterday a man went to Wrothsley, a sort 
of a seafaring man, and he asked to see Lady Gilmore, 
insisted upon seeing her, but luckily Father Hayward 
arrived at the Castle just then, and the footman appealed 
to him — and then this man said he wanted to see Lady 
Gilmore about something concerning her — eldest son.” 

Hugh Gifford turned his head away sharply. 

“ What have I to do with this ? ” he asked in a 
changed voice. 

“ Then Father Hayward took this man into the library,” 
continued Nancy in faltering accents, “and — he told 
Father Hayward a strange story, Hugh — where your 
brother was brought up, somewhere on the northern sea- 
coast, this man and his daughter lived, and — Gerard was 
engaged to be married to this girl — when all the changes 
came, when he became Lord Gilmore, you know.” 

A sort of exclamation here broke from Hugh Gifford’s 
lips. 

“I don’t like to tell you all this, Hugh,” went on poor 
Nancy, “ but I am obliged to do it, because Father Hay- 
ward wishes to see you about it ” 

“I won’t see him !” interrupted Hugh Gifford, hoarse- 
ly* 

“Oh! do Hugh — he would think it so strange if you 
do not — because this man went on to tell Father Hay- 
ward, that one day his daughter disappeared from home, 
and he never heard of her or from her for months. Peo- 
ple said she had gone to Gerard, and her father saw 
Gerard in town, but he denied he knew anything of her. 
And her father heard nothing more till a few days ago — 
after Gerard had disappeared for a fortnight — and then 
the daughter wrote to her father to tell him of her distress 
— and to tell him, too, that she was married to Ger- 
ard ” 

“What!” said Hugh Gifford, so darkly, so passion- 
ately, that Nancy absolutely trembled. 

“They are really married.” she went on after a 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


307 


moment's pause. “ Father Hayward ascertained this was 
so before he came here, and he thought that you should 
know — for, Hugh, a baby is coming ” 

An inarticulate cry of absolute fury now burst from 
Hugh Gifford’s quivering lips. 

“It’s a lie, nothing but a lie ! ” he almost shouted, his 
face pale with passion the while ; “this is another trick 
of the priest’s to rob me again of what always should have 
been mine. He has bribed this woman, no doubt — now 
when ” 

Suddenly he paused ; suddenly turned away his head, 
and half-staggered across the room, as if utterly over- 
come. 

“Oh! Hugh — ” said Nancy appealingly, and she 
went up to him and would have put her hand on his 
shoulder, but he shrank away from her. 

“Don’t, don’t touch me,” he safd hoarsely. “Is this 
true, absolutely true, that you have been telling me?” he 
added turning round and facing her. “Did the priest 
say this ? ” 

“Yes, it is true,” faltered Nancy. 

“ Did he say anything else?” 

“ Yes — he said he thought the time had now come when 
the family should offer a reward for any clue to — your 
brother’s disappearance — and he wished to see you about 
this.” 

“ I won’t see him, once for all ! ” 

Nancy was silent, indeed she was afraid to speak. 

“And moreover,” went on Hugh Gifford looking at his 
watch. “ 1 am not going to dine here to-day — I am go- 
ing out of town, and when the priest calls to-morrow, 
you can tell him I am not at home.” 

Still Nancy was silent ; she stood there before him with 
her eyes cast down, and with a dull, cold pain in her 
heart. 

“What have I to do with all this?” continued Hugh 
Gifford loudly and excitedly. “Let them offer what 
rewards they like, but I won’t move a finger in the 
matter.” 

“But — is it wise, Hugh?” said Nancy, tremblingly. 

Again a sudden change passed over his face — a look 
almost of fear — but it was only momentary. 

‘ ‘ W'hat do you mean ? ” he said roughly enough ; “what 
want of wisdom is there in have nothing to do with their 
offers f ” 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT , OR , 


308 

“I only meant ” 

“Well, I have no time just now to listen to what you 
meant. Will you kindly ring the bell, and tell Charles I 
want a hansom to be here in five minutes — and now I 
have a letter to write.” 

Nancy saw that he meant her to go away, and so she 
left him with a sinking heart. He looked into the draw- 
ing-room for a moment before he left the house, and told 
Nancy that “ if the priest called, ’’ she was to tell Father 
Flay ward from him, that he preferred to have “ nothing to 
do with the affair at all.” 

“ Let them manage it their own way,” he added. 
“ Good-bye, Nancy ; I’ll reappear when I think the coast 
is clear of the priest,” and he nodded his head, and was 
gone — without saying a word where he was going ! 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

FORSAKEN. 

—Father Hayward arrived the next morning at eleven 
o’clock, as he had arranged, and looked very grave indeed 
when Nancy was forced to tell him that her husband was 
not at home. 

“That is most unfortunate,” he said slowly. 

“Yes,” answered Nancy, trying to hide Hugh Gifford’s 
seeming discourtesy, “ he had made an engagement to go 
out of town, which he could not put off — but he told me to 
tell you, Father Hayward, he would prefer to have nothing 
to do with this affair — about his brother. 

“ Do you mean about offering a reward for any clue to 
throw light on Lord Gilmore’s strange disappearance?” 

“ Yes ; he said he should rather not move in the matter 
at all — you see they were not friends.” 

“ Still I think it a great pity, a very great pity, consider- 
ing the circumstances, that Mr. Gifford should not come 
forward in this matter. You see if anything has happened 
to Lord Gilmore, Mr. Gifford is at the present moment 
his presumptive heir, unless his child should be born alive 
and a son.” 

“And the wife ?” said Nancy, wishing to change the 
conversation, “ Did you see her ? and what is she like ? ” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION \ 


309 

“She is a pretty, fair, modest-looking- young woman, 
and seems in great distress about the disappearance of her 
husband — she fears he has been murdered/' 

“Oh, how terrible ! " 

“The mysterious part of it is that someone must be 
withholding information from the police, as he left the 
house two hours before he was seen at the station, at 
Maidenhead, by the station-master, who seems an intelli- 
gent man, and positively states he saw Lord Gilmore start 
in the eleven train for town. Now during these two 
hours he must have been in some house, as the night, they 
tell me, was wet and stormy, yet no one has come forward 
to tell where he was ; and this is one reason why I am so 
anxious that a large reward should be offered, as it might 
be an inducement to some person to speak the truth." 

“It is most extraordinary," said Nancy, casting down 
her eyes. 

“It is a grievous thing, grievous for the poor young 
wife, and for the whole family, and what its effects on 
Lady Gilmore may be I dread to think of, and desire to 
keep it from her knowledge as long as possible. And this 
is why I so earnestly wish that your husband would 
come forward." 

Nancy shook her head. 

“I fear that it will be in vain to ask him, Father Hay- 
ward," she said. 

“Could you not try to persuade him ? " 

“ I do not think I could." 

“In that case I must act on my own responsibility, 
and on that of young Lady Gilmore, and her father, Mr. 
Sumners ; for there is no doubt that the affair is most 
serious, and that no exertion should be spared to elucidate 
the strange disappearance of this young man." 

He took his leave shortly after this, and Nancy re- 
mained in the house all day, expecting her husband’s 
return. But Hugh Gifford did not reappear until night- 
fall, and told Nancy casually that he had been down the 
river to Cookham. 

“ A man I know is staying at the hotel there, so I went 
to get out of the way of the priest," he said. “Did he 
come, and what did he say ? " 

Then Nancy explained and told him what Father Hay- 
ward had said, and Hugh Gifford listened with a moody 
brow. 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


3 10 

“As I said before, let them manage it themselves,” he 
said sullenly ; “ if this woman is his wife, she is the proper 
person to do it ; ” and then he changed the conversation. 

But Nancy noticed that during the next few days he 
was more restless and unsettled than ever. She saw, too, 
how often his eyes would rest on her face with a pained, 
sad look in them, and he was more considerate, and more 
gentle in his manner to her — more as he used to be after 
her accident, and during her long illness — and he grew 
fonder than ever of the child. 

A large reward had been offered in the meanwhile for 
any information regarding the disappearance of Gerard, 
Lord Gilmore, but Hugh Gifford said nothing of this to 
Nancy for nearly a week after Father Hayward’s last visit. 
Then suddenly, one morning, he told her he was going 
abroad for a while. 

“ All this affair has worried me so that I want a change,” 
he said. “ People are always bothering me at the clubs 
to know if anything has been discovered, and one fellow 
had the impudence to call me Lord Gilmore again yester- 
day, and so I am about sick of it, Nancy, and am going 
away. ” 

“You will take me with you, then?” said-Nancy, look- 
ing up with her dark eyes on his changing face. 

“No, no, I cannot; what could I do with a nurse and 
a baby dragging after me, and you could not leave the 
child ? ” 

“ I could take him to your mother’s or Miss Gifford’s,” 
answered Nancy, though the thought of parting from her 
baby was very terrible to her. 

“Yes, and be pining after him the whole time. No, 
you stay at home, and look after the child — poor little 
woman.” 

He laid his hand kindly on her shoulder, as he spoke, 
and looked almost wistfully in her face. 

“I am afraid I have been a bad husband to you, 
Nancy,” he said. “God knows I did not mean to be — 
that I was very fond of you — but with one thing and 
another. ” 

“And have you quite changed to me, Hugh ? ” 

“I am a changed man altogether, I think — it seems to 
me- that we never know what we shall do — that we are 
driven hither and thither, by fate, that is too powerful for 
us — it has been so with me at least” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPT A T/OM 


3 II 

He spoke these disjointed words as if his mind were 
dwelling on something ; as if they fell from his lips 
almost without thought. 

“But it's no good regretting the past/’ he added, as if 
trying to rouse himself from his abstraction. “I believe 
you are a good little woman, worthy of a better fate than 
you’ve got — and yet we have had some happy days, 
haven’t we? ” 

“Oh! yes, yes, Hugh ! ” said Nancy, her eyes filling 
j with sudden tears, “very happy days — and I pray we 
may have many more.” 

He gave a restless sigh, and then stooped down and 
kissed her cheek and a moment later turned away. And 
! she scarcely saw him again during the day, as he was 
! engaged, he told her, arranging some business before he 
| left England. 

“ But you won’t stay long? ” she asked. 

“Oh, no, but still there are things to be seen about,” 
he answered, and the next morning he told her he was 
going to start. 

“And you won’t see your mother first then ? ” 

“No, no, I could not stand it — but for her — ” 

Here he abruptly broke off his sentence, and Nancy 
asked no more questions. Then when the hour for his 
departure drew near, he told her to bring the boy to his 
dressing-room, and when she complied with his wish, he 
took the child in his arms and kissed him tenderly. 

‘‘Good-bye, little fellow,” he said, and for a moment 
his hazel eyes grew dim ; “ be good always to your mother 
! — better than your father has been.” 

“But Hugh — Hugh, why do you speak like that — as if 
you were going away for so long ? ” said Nancy with 
agitation. 

“ Nonsense. I was only giving the youngster good 
advice,” he answered, trying to speak lightly, though his 
; lips quivered. “Well, Nancy, here is your boy again — 

I need not tell you to take good care of him — and take 
! care of yourself.” 

“Yes ; but I wish you would not go, Hugh.” 

He made no answer, but he stooped down and kissed 
her twice. 

“Poor little woman,” she heard him mutter. “I will 
write,” he added, and then he wrung her hand, looked 
for one moment in her face, and the next had hurried 


A bitter birthright ; OR, 


pi 

away ; and two minutes later was driven from the house. 

And a great depression fell on Nancy’s heart after he 
was gone. His manner had been so strange, and the 
whole circumstances connected with his brother’s disap- 
pearance were so mysterious, that Nancy dare not even 
to herself admit her secret dread. Mrs. Loftus saw very 
well that something was weighing heavily on her daugh- 
ter’s mind, though she was too wise to try to force her- 
self into her confidence. 

No letter came from Hugh Gifford for nearly a week 
after his departure, and at the end of this time, Major 
Erne, who was still in town, one day again called on 
Nancy, and once more noticed how ill and anxious she 
was looking. 

“ What message have I to carry to Miss Gifford,” he 
asked smiling. “ I leave town the day after to-morrow, 
and she will expect to hear some news of you and her 
little heir.” 

“You must tell her baby is very well.” 

“And you ? ” 

“Oh, I am fairly well too.” 

“You do not look so then; you must forgive an old 
friend for saying this, but really I cannot give a good 
account of you.” 

“Perhaps I want change,” said Nancy uneasily. 

“You want something, I am sure ; why not go to Miss 
Gifford’s as I suggested to you before ? ” 

At this moment the footman brought in a letter, which 
had just arrived by post, and as Nancy glanced at the 
address, she saw it was from Hugh Gifford, and was the 
first letter she had received since he went abroad. 

“This is from Mr. Gifford,” she said; “he is away, 
you know.” 

“1 did not know,” answered Erne, rising restlessly; 
but don’t mind me, I will look out of the window while 
you read your letter.” 

He went to one of the windows of the room as he spoke, 
and stood there gazing vaguely out. Suddenly he heard 
a sort of exclamation from Nancy, and turning quickly 
round, saw her standing, quite pale, and staring at the 
letter in her hand as if she did not understand its mean- 
ing. 

“ I hope you have got no ill news? ” he said. 

“I — I — do not know — I cannot understand,” she fal- 
tered out. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATlOM. 


He crossed the room and went up to her, and as he did 
this the letter fluttered from Nancy's nerveless hand and 
fell upon the floor, and Erne stooped down and lifted it 
up. 

“What is the matter?” he said kindly, as he laid the 
letter on a table near. 

“ I — I — cannot tell, "said Nancy in a broken voice, “ and 
yet, oh ! Godfrey — you are an old friend — tell me what I 
must do ? ” 

She put out her hand as if appealing for help, and God- 
frey Erne took it. 

“If I can help you in any way,” he said earnestly, 
“please let me do so.” 

“It is from Hugh — my husband — to tell me, that he 
has left me,” went on poor Nancy still in a broken voice, 
“to tell me that he has gone.” 

“ What ! Do you mean for good?” 

“Yes, that is what he says — that he will never come 
back.” 

“Impossible ! surely you are mistaken ? Had you any 
quarrel ? ” 

“No, none, none ! it is not that.” 

Again she put her trembling hand out for the letter, and 
re-read it, and then gave it to Godfrey Erne.. 

“You can read it, and tell me what you think,” she 
said. 

Then Erne read the letter, and his face grew very stern 
as he did so, and his gray eyes flashed. It was as follows 
—a strange letter indeed to be penned by a young husband 
to a young wife, and whom he had parted from so lately 
with a tender kiss. 

“Nancy. For no more can I write my Nancy, since 
this letter must end our brief married life — and hence- 
forth we must be as strangers. I write this with pain, be- 
cause I shrink from giving you pain, and because you 
have deserved nothing but good from my hands. But we 
never should have married. Years before I saw you, I was 
bound by honor to another woman ; to a woman who had 
sacrificed much for my sake, and only loved me too well. 
To this woman I have now returned, and from this step there 
is no going back. For yourself I have arranged that you 
shall be amply provided for, with an allowance also for 
the rearing of the boy, as I do not choose him to be entirely 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR , 


3H 

dependent on Miss Gifford ; and I should advise you — if 
I may still advise — to go to Wrothsley to live with my 
mother. But, if you prefer to keep on your own house, 
the rent will be regularly paid by my lawyer, and in that 
case, it would be well to have your mother with you, 
Remember, I only am to blame for this, not you. I was 
led away by your beauty and sweetness, to do what I 
had no right to do, and I bitterly regret having brought all 
this trouble upon you. But you will be happier without 
me, Nancy, and you have your boy, and you must try to 
bring him up to be a better man than his father. 

“Hugh Gifford.” 

Godfrey Erne read this letter, and then flung it indig- 
nantly on the table. 

“What does it mean ?” asked Nancy, with her eyes fixed 
on his face. 

“It means that he has forsaken you — forsaken you 
who are so good and pure, for a woman who is not so,” 
answered Erne, sternly. 

“But who can she be? I never heard of any woman 
— Miss Gifford certainly hinted once ” 

“There was a scandal about him when he was Lord 
Gilmore, I was told ; a scandal about some foreign woman 
who, it was said, shot him first and then shot herself, 
because he would not fulfil his promise of marrying her — 
no doubt this is the same.” 

“ Yes,” said Nancy, and she gave a little shudder ; but 
she was not thinking only that she was forsaken. 

“You would like your mother with you, would you not ? ” 
Erne said, the next moment. “Let me telegraph for 
her ? ” 

“ I would like her to come — oh! so much — but don’t 
telegraph,- for it might frighten her — would it be a great 
trouble to you to go for her ? ” 

“ It would be no trouble whatever, but I do not like to 
leave you alone.” 

“ Why ?” asked Nancy, and the color flushed back to 
her sweet face, and she raised her head a little proudly. 
“ Do you think such a letter as that,” and she pointed to 
the letter lying on the table, “could break my heart ? ” 

“I hope not, I trust not — I pray you will never break 
your heart for one so unworthy.” 

“No; but if you will go for my mother, Major Erne 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION , i 


315 

— and — and tell her it would spare me some pain and 
shame — though I know. I have no claim to ask this favor 
of you/’ 

“No claim ! ” echoed Erne, and a flush passed over his 
pale face, and a great throb through his heart. But he 
crushed back his thoughts — the thoughts of the sweet 
bright girl he had loved long ago — of the fair woman 
whose head had lain on his breast in her great peril, and 
who now stood before him, insulted and forsaken. 

“I’ll go at once,” he said, turning away his head with 
a quick movement to hide his emotion. “ I know Mrs. 
Loftus’ address — I called there this week, though I did 
not see her — for the present then, good-bye.” 

He held out his hand, and clasped Nancy’s for one 
moment, and was gone. After he left her, Nancy gave 
one long quivering, shuddering sigh, and stood there with 
that haunting shadow of her soul creeping still nearer. 

‘ * He has gone because he is afraid to stay, ” she thought ; 
“this woman is the excuse.” 


A little while later, Major Erne reached Mrs. Loftus’ 
house, in West Hampstead, and to his annoyance, when 
he was ushered into the little drawing-room, he found 
another, and substantial lady, seated there as well as the 
sad-faced widow. 

This was no other than “Aunt Fannie” (Mrs. Barclay), 
who had an approving eye for good-looking young men, 
and commenced smiling very graciously, after she was 
introduced to him, on the handsome soldier. This added 
not a little to Erne’s impatience, and at last he was driven 
to inquire of Mrs. Loftus if he could speak to her a few 
moments in private. 

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Loftus, rising, while Aunt 
Fannie’s mottled cheeks grew a dingy red. 

“If I am in the way — ” she said. 

“Oh, no,” answered Major Erne courteously, “but I 
have a message for Mrs. Loftus — and should like to speak 
to her a moment alone.” 

Upon this Mrs. Loftus led the way to the dining-room, 
and Major Erne followed her, and, having shut the door, 
commenced to tell his news. 

“ I have just left Mrs. Gifford,” he said, casting down his 
eyes, for it was very painful to him to grieve this woman 
of many sorrows, “and— she wishes to see you as soon 
as possible.” 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


316 

“Nancy ! she’s not ill, is she? ” asked the fond mother 
in quick alarm. 

“ No, not ill, but I am sorry to say in great trouble.” 

“What is the matter? Oh ! Major Erne, you are not 
deceiving me about her health.” 

“ I swear I am not, but she has had a letter from Mr. 
Gifford this afternoon — a most extraordinary letter.” 

“From her husband? He is abroad — has anything 
happened to him ? ” 

“He has written in very cold. hard words to tell Nancy 
— Mrs. Gifford — that he has forsaken her ; that he has 
gone to live with another woman.” 

A sudden scarlet flush rose on Mrs. Loftus’ delicate 
skin. 

“I — I cannot believe it,” she said with some dignity. 

“ It is almost impossible to believe it, and yet it is so. 
Mr. Gifford has written deliberately to tell his wife that 
he does not mean to return to her, and he has made all 
arrangements regarding money, and expressed a wish that 
she should either live with his mother, or that you should 
live with her.” 

“Oh ! this cannot be true ! ” 

“Unfortunately it is too true, Mrs. Loftus ; his conduct 
is simply disgraceful — and to anyone like ” 

He did not finish his sentence; he bit his lips, and 
suppressed the words he fain would have spoken, but 
Mrs. Loftus never noticed his agitation in her own over- 
powering emotion. 

“And did she send you for me?” she asked, tremu- 
lously. “ My poor, poor girl 1 ” 

“ Yes, I happened to be calling on her to bid her good- 
bye, before I left town, when this disgraceful letter arrived 
— and she asked me to go for you, and tell you its con- 
tents.” 

“Oh, my poor Nancy ! ” said Mrs. Loftus, deeply affect- 
ed. “I don’t mind telling you, Major Erne, as you are 
such an old friend, that I have seen for long that she was 
not happy — and lately she has looked so very ill ! ” 

“She looks ill and worried — but this man, her husband, 
said in his letter she would be happier without him, and 
we must hope that she will be.” 

“And she wishes me to go to her at once ? ” 

“Yes, if you can do so, I will take you back in the 
hansom I came in ; I kept it waiting on purpose,” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


3*7 


‘‘That is her aunt upstairs, Mrs. Barclay — I must say 
to her Nancy is not very well, and wishes me to goto her 
— best say nothing more.” 

“ If you like,” said Erne, who was always considerate, 
“I can go and talk to Mrs. Barclay while you make any 
preparations for leaving home that you may require ? ” 

“Will you? Oh, thank you — just say Nancy is not 
well, that is all — I shall be ready to go in a few minutes.” 

Major Erne returned to the drawing-room where Mrs. 
Barclay was sitting, feeling not a little injured. But as Erne 
entered she began to smile. 

“ Well,” she said, “and has this mysterious interview 
with my sister-in-law come to an end? ” 

Erne smiled also. 

“ I did not know, ” he said, “ when I asked to see Mrs. 
Loftus alone, that you were a near relation, or I should 
have spoken before you. But the truth is, your niece, 
Mrs. Gifford, is very far from well, and as I was calling 
there, she asked me to go for her mother, for I am a very 
old friend of the family you know.” 

“Not a very old friend at all events,” answered Mrs. 
Barclay graciously. 

“Yes, I am very old and grayheaded,” said Erne, still 
smiling; “and I have persuaded Mrs. Loftus to drive 
back with me, for Mrs. Gifford is really not at all well.” 

“What sort of a man is that husband of hers ?” asked 
Mrs. Barclay curiously. 

“I know very little of him,” replied Erne, with reserve, 
and Mrs. Barclay instantly decided in her own mind that 
he was keeping something back. 

But at this moment Mrs. Loftus entered the room, with 
her bonnet on, and thus put an end to the conversation. 

“ I am going to see Nancy, Fannie,” said Mrs. Loftus, as 
calmly as she could “Major Erne says she is not well, 
and wishes to see me, so will you excuse me for an hour 
or so ? ” 

“Of course, my dear,” answered Mrs. Barclay. “Give 
my love to Nancy, and tell her I shall call to see her 
to-morrow. ” 

They thus got quietly away, and Erne took Mrs. Loftus 
in his hansom cab to Nancy’s house, but he did not go 
in when they arrived there. 

“No, I shall call to see how she is to-morrow,” he said, 
3S he shook hancjs with Mrs, Loftus at the door, after he 


3I 8 a bitter birthright, or, 

had handed her out of the cab, for he thought it was kinder 
and wiser to allow the mother and daughter to meet 
alone. 

Then, as he was returning to his hotel, he purchased a 
newspaper at one of the underground stations, and as he 
was glancing carelessly over it, his eyes were suddenly 
attracted by the heading of a paragraph : 

‘ ‘ The Missing Lord— Supposed Clue,” read Erne, natu- 
rally with strong interest. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE FIRST CLUE. 

The newspaper paragraph went on to tell that since the 
reward had been offered for any information concerning 
the disappearance of Gerard, Lord Gilmore, that a young 
man named Tyrone, who had been staying at one of the 
villages up the Thames over six weeks, had come forward 
and stated that more than once he had seen a young 
hunchbacked man, whom he knew well by sight, row up 
to the little landing-place of a small river-side villa, which 
he could point out 

The police, acting on this information, had gone to this 
river-side villa, accompanied by Mr. Tyrone, but they 
had found the villa shut up, and the whole place deserted. 
They then discovered that this villa belonged to a- certain 
builder in Maidenhead, who had once resided there, but 
during the last two years, finding it too small for his 
family, had removed to a larger house and had let this 
villa to anyone he could get to take it. 

The police then had gone to Mr. Gibson, the builder, 
and the owner of the villa, and this gentleman had been 
ready to give them any information in his power. A 
house agent had let the villa in the beginning of March to 
a foreign lady, named Madame de Costa, who had the 
place for six months, and paid the rent in advance. But 
to Mr. Gibson’s surprise he had received a communication 
from the house-agent to tell him that the foreign lady 
after staying a little over ten weeks at the villa had left it, 
and had returned the keys to the house agent, who wrote 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


319 

to ask Mr. Gibson’s wishes respecting the future letting of 
the place. 

This was all Mr. Gibson knew .about the last tenant, 
but when the house-agent at Maidenhead was applied to 
he had more to tell. Pie stated that Madame de Costa 
personally took the villa off him, and that she was a tall, 
dark, and seemingly a very handsome woman, though he 
never saw her without a veil, and she spoke English very 
well, though with a slight foreign accent. She had, how- 
ever, two foreign servants who could not speak a word of 
English, and these two were the only attendants the house- 
agent saw when the lady took possession of the villa, 
having paid six months rent in advance. The house-agent 
also stated that the lady seemed wealthy, and brought 
many beautiful things with her ; that when she left she 
returned the keys of the villa to him by parcel post, inform- 
ing him in a letter she enclosed that the illness of a relation 
had suddenly recalled her to the south of France. 

Erne read all these details, and then a sudden vague 
suspicion darted across his mind. He further read that the 
police were most anxious to receive information regard- 
ing Madame de Costa. Mr. Tyrone’s statement undoubt- 
edly proved that Lord Gilmore had been in the habit of 
going to the river-side villaduringher tenancy, and that this 
fact might account for where he spent the two hours on 
the night of the 29th of April, when he left the Rookery 
in time to catch the nine train, but did not arrive at the 
station at Maidenhead until a few minutes before eleven 
o’clock, when he started in the train, which was the last 
time he had been seen or heard of. 

Erne was a man with a clear, acute mind, as well as a 
strong will, and during the remainder of the evening after 
he had read this newspaper account of the first clue 
towards the discovery of “The missing lord,” he sat and 
pondered frequently on the strange mystery that sur- 
rounded Lord Gilmore’s disappearance. He had meant 
to leave town the next day, but he did not do this, but 
telegraphed to General Blenkensop to tell him he was 
detained. Then about twelve o’clock the next morning 
he went to Nancy’s house to inquire after her, and was 
requested by the footman to go in, as Mrs. Gifford had 
given orders that if he called he was to be admitted. 

He was shown into the drawing-room, and a few 
moments later Nancy entered it She looked agitated and 


3 2 ° 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


ill, and after shaking hands with Erne she at once began 
to talk on the very subject that Erne had been thinking of 
so deeply. 

“ In the papers this morning/' she said, nervously, 
“ There is something about Gerard's disappearance — some- 
thing about some woman he used to visit down the river 
— have you seen it ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Erne, gravely. 

“ And — and I suppose they will try to trace this woman ? ” 
asked Nancy, quickly. 

“ I suppose so ; but it will be very difficult unless she 
voluntarily comes forward, which is very unlikely.” 

“Then you think she will have left England? ” 

“ If she has had anything to do with his disappearance 
no doubt she has.” 

“ His wife knew nothing about this woman, did she? ” 

“I conclude not, or the fact of his going to this river- 
side villa would have been mentioned before. But at all 
events it would seem as though nothing could have 
happened to him there, as he was last seen at the station 
at Maidenhead.” 

Erne's eyes were fixed on Nancy's face as he said this, 
and in a moment a sudden color flushed over it, which 
faded as quickly as it came. 

“ He — might have returned/ v she said an instant later, 
as though she were forcing the words from her lips. 

“True, he might ; the police will, however, probably 
thoroughly search the villa now, and some trace of him 
may be discovered. I feel so interested in the case that 
I think 1 shall go down to Maidenhead this afternoon ; 
and if I may be allowed I shall come in during the even- 
ing and tell you what I see and hear.” 

“Yes, do — and, Major Erne, there is something I have 
got to say to you ; will you please kindly not mention to 
anyone that — that Mr. Gifford has forsaken me for — an- 
other woman. Let it be said we have quarrelled — any- 
thing — but not that.” 

“ If you wish me not to mention it I shall certainly not 
do so.” 

“ No one knows about that letter — that shameful letter 
— but my mother and you. My mother will never breathe 
it, and I feel sure for my sake you will not.” 

“Without your leave I certainly will not.” 

“ You see it would do no good/’ went on Nancy, “and 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


321 

might do harm. For myself I shall never speak to him 
gain, but that is different — -that is between him and me — 
but for baby's sake I wish no one else to know." 

“Then you will not seek to obtain a divorce?" asked 
Erne, slowly. 

“No, oh ! no ; " and Nancy suddenly put her hand over 
her face, which grew crimson. “The shame is enough 
without other people knowing it — I will bear it in silence." 

“ Few women would do so, but you are the best judge.” 

“I am sure I am right; I have thought it all over, and 
I knew I had only to ask you to keep this unhappy 
secret." 

“Ask me what you like and I will do it,” said Erne, 
with deep but suppressed emotion ; “ and if there is any- 
thing I can ever do for you — if, if you should ever want 
a friend ” 

“You have been such a good one to me already," 
answered Nancy, gently, “ that I should always know 
where to go when I want one in future — we are old 
friends, are we not ? " 

She stretched out her hand to- him as she spoke, and 
Erne bent down and kissed it almost reverently. He had 
a sort of vague idea why Nancy was asking him to keep 
the secret of her husband’s faithlessness, and he thought 
he understood her unselfishness in doing so. 

“She knows more than she will tell," he reflected after 
he left her ; “ and she is ready to screen the man who has 
basely deserted her — and how any man could — " and 
Erne gave a restless sigh. 

Then early in the afternoon he started for Maidenhead, 
and called on Mr. Gibson, the builder, whose address he 
easily discovered. He found him a pleasant, rosy-faced 
man, jovial and well-to-do, and upon Erne telling him he 
had known the missing lord, and was a friend of the 
family, Mr. Gibson was quite ready to tell him everything 
he knew. 

“I am going with the police to the little villa in half an 
hour, sir," he said, “as they want to institute a regular 
search of the whole place, and if you would like to go 
with us you are very welcome." 

“I should like to do so very much indeed," answered 
Erne. 

“I cannot see how it will help them, though, to find 
Lord Gilmore, as he was last seen at the station, I am 
told," remarked the builder. 

21 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


322 

“ There may be some trace discovered — he might even 
have returned, you know, after he was seen at the station/’ 
said Erne, remembering Nancy’s words. 

“Yes, sir, that is true ; it was a tremendous storm that 
night — the night he is said to have disappeared, for I re- 
member be'ing very uneasy that some unfinished houses 
of mine would *be blown down; however, nothing hap- 
pened.” 

Then while Erne was conversing with Mr. Gibson, two 
policemen arrived, followed a few minutes later by an In- 
spector, who made no objection to Erne accompanying 
the party to the riverside villa, when he heard he was a 
friend of the missing lord. 

They accordingly proceeded up the river in two boats, 
and after a longish pull drew up before the stockade where 
Juan, the Spaniard, had so often fished and sung, and 
where Madame de Costa had lately lived. 

It was a beautiful May day, and after they had landed, 
Mr. Gibson looked around him with pardonable pride. 

“’Tis a sweet little place, isn’t it, sir? ” he said to Erne, 
who cordially agreed with him. The villa was certainly 
looking its best, with the fresh green leaves, the white and 
pink hawthorns in full bloom, and the whole place full 
of the charm and beauty of spring. A place for lovers or 
a young wedded pair, with the birds singing on the boughs 
and the whisper of the river murmuring close by. Erne 
lingered on in the sunny garden as the policemen hurried 
on, eager to examine the house, and as he stood on the 
little lawn and looked at the water and the sky, his 
thoughts wandered far away. 

They wandered to an early morning ride in a distant 
land, where a bright-faced young girl was by his side, 
whose dark eyes were shining full of joy and hope. That 
face was changed now, but still the fairest face on earth 
to Godfrey Erne. He was remembering little things she 
had said ; how she had looked up smiling in his face ; and 
how her color had flushed and paled. 

“ I made a mistake — a great mistake, ” he thought, sadly 
enough. “ If I had asked Nancy to marry me then, she 
would have been happier now — but, unluckily, she never 
knew how well I loved her.” 

His old memories were, however, soon interrupted by 
Mr. Gibson, the builder, who had gone into the house 
with the policemen, but now came out and joined Erne 
on the lawn. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


323 

** Well, have they found anything?” asked Erne, look- 
ing round. 

“Nothing, seemingly; everything is left in order, ap- 
parently, but Madame or some of her friends must have 
been thirsty souls, for I never saw so many empty cham- 
pagne bottles and brandy bottles together as are standing 
in one of the out-houses. They say the young lord was 
fond of drink. I wonder if he used to come here and 
tipple with Madame ? ” 

Mr. Gibson laughed as he said this, and then turned 
round and contemplatively looked at the house. 

“I built this place, sir,” he said, “and lived in it for 
many years, until my boys and girls began to grow up 
and wanted more room than there was here for them, but 
I own I never liked any house as well, and I and my wife 
have spent many a happy day here. ” 

“I can quite imagine that,” smiled Erne, pleasantly. 

“May I ask if you are married yourself, sir?” asked 
the genial builder. 

“No and a cloud stole over Erne’s brow. “I was 
too poor to marry.” 

“Well, Major Erne, you’ll pardon me for saying so, 
but I think it’s a mistake for young folks to wait until they 
get rich, because after all the spring of life is the brightest 
time. I married when I was poor, and we had a hard 
enough struggle sometimes, but we never lost heart, and 
cheered each other up when we were a bit down ; and 
now here we are in middle life fairly well-to-do — but then 
I’ve worked hard.” 

“That is the most honorable life of all.” 

“ I think so too, sir ; and if you believe me I’ve got into 
such a way of building and planning that I never see a 
house but I think I should like to improve it. Now if 
you’ll make round this way a little bit, I’ll show you how 
I think I could improve this one.” 

So Erne and the builder walked together to the west 
side of thie little villa, and there Mr. Gibson pointed out 
to Erne, a pretty verandah covered with Virginia creeper, 
which ended at this spot. 

“Now I fancy if that verandah were carried along this 
side, as well as in the front, that it would give the place 
a more picturesque appearance,” said Mr. Gibson, with 
his eyes fixed on the verandah as if mentally measuring 
it. ‘ £ It wouldn’t cost much, and it might be joined neatly, 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


3 2 4 

and the whole thing - fresh painted, and I am certain it 
would smarten up the house. ” 

He left Erne’s side as he spoke, and began pulling away 
some of the trailing creeper from the end of the verandah, 
whose long green tendrils fell here upon the ground. 

“The worst of this thing is it grows so fast,” continued 
Mr. Gibson, now getting out his pocket-knife to cut the 
creeper. “Now if the verandah was joined here, sir, you 
see, it would be a great improvement — and I'll just meas- 
ure round the house to see how much it would take.” 

He drew out his measure and began to measure the 
wall of the house, bending down for the purpose, while 
Erne stood idly watching him. Suddenly Erne saw him 
looking fixedly on the ground and feeling it with his hand. 

“This ground has been disturbed quite lately,” he said 
presently. “Just look here, Major Erne — perhaps Ma- 
dame has hidden away something here.” 

Then Erne went up to where he was standing, and also 
examined the ground. It was levelled down as with a 
spade, and the creeper had crept over it. but all the same 
it was plain to a practised eye that part of it — some six 
feet in length — had lately been disturbed, and had a dif- 
ferent appearance to the rest. 

“ I’ll fetch the Inspector to have a look at this place, I 
think,” said Mr. Gibson, and he went into the house for 
the purpose, but Erne stood still, looking at the sun glint- 
ing on the newly-turned soil. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE BUILDERS FIND. 

A few minutes later the Inspector, Mr. Gibson, and the 
two policemen appeared, and instantly began examining 
the ground with the keenest interest. 

“This soil has been dug up this spring,” said the In- 
spector ; “look, it has none of the green mould which the 
winter’s damp has left on the rest. Well, Mr. Gibson, we 
must dig up this place with your leave?” 

“Certainly, you have my fullest leave,” answered the 
builder. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION, \ 


325 

They had not brought any spades, but Mr. Gibson 
pointed out what used to be the tool-house in his time, 
and there they found two spades, one of which had a good 
deal of soil clinging to it and was rusty. 

“This spade has been put away wet,” said the Inspector, 
looking at it. “Well, there’s one a-piece for you,” he 
added, looking at the two policemen; “now, my men, 
begin and dig away as fast as you can.” 

The policemen needed no second bidding. They began 
to dig, and it was not hard work. The -soil had evidently 
recently been dug up, and Erne, the Inspector, and Mr. Gib- 
son, stood round watching them. Spadeful after spadeful 
they threw up ; deeper and deeper they went down, until, 
when about four feet below the surface, one of the spades 
suddenly struck on a resisting substance. 

“There’s something here,” said one of the policemen, 
and he moved the position of his spade slightly, and the 
next minute raised with it a man’s boot ! 

“By Heavens! it’s a man!” cried the Inspector. 
“ Look, there’s the end of the trouser — put down your 
spades, men used your hands now — I believe that we’ve 
found him ! ” 

The policemen now began pushing aside the soil with 
their hands, while Erne, the Inspector, and Mr. Gibson 
eagerly assisted. There were a few breathless moments, 
and then a hand — a human hand — soiled and crushed — 
appeared, and the Inspector, throwing himself on the 
ground, contrived to catch hold of this, and pulled up an 
arm, and a minute or two later one of the policemen caught 
another arm, and between them from the mould — from 
his unhallowed grave — they raised a form, a face. 

Erne gave a shocked exclamation as his eyes fell on 
the features, which he instantly recognized. 

“ It is Lord Gilmore ! ” he cried. “ He has been mur- 
dered and then buried here.” 

“Is this Lord Gilmore?” said the Inspector, turning 
eagerly to Erne. “You knew him, did you not?” 

“Yes, this is Lord Gilmore,” answered Erne, looking 
steadily at the disfigured man. But there was no mistak- 
ing the handsome features, the full lips shaded by the thick 
brown moustache and the bright brown hair. Yes, it was 
Gerard, Lord Gilmore, whose brief life lay ended here, 
and in whose half-open hazel eyes there still lingered a 
look of unutterable horror and pain through all the foul- 
ness of the damp and clinging soil. 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


326 

And the form — that bitter birthright which had marred 
his life — was also plainly visible. He had been flung 
into his grave unshrined and uncoffined, in haste and se- 
crecy, but when they lifted him out of it they could find 
no wound on his person to account for his death. He 
had, however, been robbed, at least nothing of value 
remained, and his shirt sleeves were open, as though the 
studs had been torn out, and he had no money whatever 
about him. 

“He has been lured here and murdered, I suppose,” 
said the inspector, “ or murdered in the train and carried 
here — at all events the foreign woman who lived here had 
a hand in his death.” 

“And to think such a horrible thing should have hap- 
pened in my house,” said Mr. Gibson, whose rosy face had 
grown pale. 

“ Poor fellow ! ” said Erne, and he kneeled down and 
lifted one of the chill, soiled hands, and thought as he did 
so of the day when they had gone together to Gateford 
Manor House, and of Gilmore’s merry, careless words 
when Miss Gifford had given them the diamond rings. 
“ He was kind-hearted and good-natured in the extreme,” 
he said aloud, “ whoever did it, it is a shameful deed.” 

“ It was probably for his money,” remarked the inspec- 
tor. “I wonder how they killed him ? But there will, 
of course, have to be a post-mortem, and now I think we 
had best carry him into the house.” 

So they lifted him up and carried him into the house, 
where he had sat so often gazing into the dark eyes that 
had lured him to his death. And they laid him on a 
couch, and Erne reverently covered his face and drew 
down the blinds of the room, for the sunlight seemed to 
make the grim sight more weird, more ghastly. 

“ And his young wife,” said Erne, “who must tell her ? ” 

“If you knew the poor gentleman,’’ answered the 
Inspector, “perhaps you could break it better to her than 
a stranger ? ” 

“I knew him, but not his wife,” replied Erne gravely ; 
“ it is a terrible thing to tell.” 

“Poor soul, poor soul!” groaned the kindly builder, 
“and to think we should come upon him, just by accident 
as it were, when I was measuring for the new verandah 
— aye, aye, we never can tell what the earth hides nor the 
sea, nor the river indeed for that matter — but it's a shock- 
ing business.” 


LAD Y GILMORE'S TEMPTA TION. 


327 

“ He had a strange history and has had a strange death, ” 
said Erne. “ But what will you do now, Inspector? Will 
you leave him here or take him home? ” 

“We will have to put him in his coffin before we can 
take him home, sir,” replied the inspector; “and before 
we do that the coroner’s inquest will have to be held, and 
the post-mortem by the doctors to discover the cause of 
death. But his wife, if he has one, ought to be told, and 
if you would very kindly undertake the sad office ? ” 

“It is a very painful one — but someone must do it — if 
you wish me to do so, I will break it to her as gently as 
I. can,” said Erne, and he thought also at this moment of 
another woman to whom the terrible news would have to 
be told. 

They settled then that Erne, the Inspector, and Mr. 
Gibson were to return at once to Maidenhead, and the 
two policemen to remain in charge of the dead body 
until relieved by some of their comrades. The Inspec- 
tor, of course, had a great deal of necessary business be- 
fore him, and therefore made haste to leave the little 
riverside villa where Gerard, Lord Gilmore, had lain hid- 
den away so long ; and with a very heavy heart Erne 
started on his sad errand. 

They rowed back to Maidenhead, and then parted, Erne 
proceeding to the Rookery to see poor May, and Mr. 
Gibson hurrying homewards, full of his dreadful discov- 
ery. And when Erne reached the picturesque, roomy old 
house where May had spent her brief married life, he felt 
the task he had undertaken almost too heavy for him. 
He rang the door bell, and asked to see Lady Gilmore, 
and while he was speaking to the servant, a pale-faced, 
hollowed, anxious-looking young woman came into the 
hall and looked eagerly at Erne. 

“Do you want to see me? Have you brought any 
news?” she asked hastily. 

“Are you Lady Gilmore?” answered Erne, taking off 
his hat. 

“Yes; but has anything been discovered? I heard 
they were going to search the house the young man said 
he had seen my — poor husband go to ? Oh, please, sir, 
tell me — do you know anything? ” 

“I have brought you some news,” said Erne in a fal- 
tering voice ; “I knew Lord Gilmore — ” 

“But what; what is the news?” cried the unhappy 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, \ OR , 


328 

young- woman, seizing Ernes hand and looking wildly 
at him. “Ah!” and she gave a loud shriek; “I see it 
written in your face — they have found him dead ! 

“ I wish I had good news for you, Lady Gilmore ; but, 
unhappily I have not ! ” 

Again a wild and bitter shriek escaped from Mays 
quivering lips. 

“ I knew it — I knew it ! He is dead ! ” she cried. “Oh, 
sir, speak ! ” she went on, wringing her hands together 
in her bitter distress ; “ nothing you can tell me is worse 
than what I think. The night he went away I dreamt 
something black and dark was following him. Oh, my 
my poor Gerard — my poor, poor Gerard ! ” 

Her grief seemed absolutely overwhelming, and with 
the deepest feeling of pity in his heart, Erne put out his 
hand and led her into a room, the door of which was 
standing open. 

“ Tell me everything,” she wept and prayed, and with 
faltering lips Erne at last told her part of the sad truth. 

“Lord Gilmore is dead,” he said; but how could he 
go on with the dreadful story ? 

“Where is he ? Let me go to him ! ” she cried wildly. 
“ Why have they not brought him home ? ” 

“He is at the little villa that they searched to-day; 
they will bring him home presently,” said Erne, trying to 
speak soothingly. 

“At the little villa? All this time ! Then, then he was 
murdered there ; murdered that dreadful night?” 

Shriek after shriek now burst from May’s frenzied lips, 
and in vain Erne and the servants who now ran in tried 
to compose her. It was a terrible scene, and in the midst 
of it a grave-faced elderly man walked into the room and 
at once went up to the unhappy woman and laid his hand 
tenderly on her shoulder. 

“They have told thee, then, my dear, dear lass !” he 
said, in a voice full of compassion. “ It’s a sore, sore 
grief ; but for thy old father’s sake try to bear it.” 

“Oh ! father, he was murdered — my Gerard, my poor, 
poor Gerard. Oh ! father, take me to him now.” 

She flung herself into her father’s arms as she spoke, 
and John Sumners drew her to his breast and kissed her 
brow. 

“Hush, hush, my lass — my dear, dear, lass,” he whis- 
pered, “ think, for thy bairn’s sake. ” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


329 


“And he will never see it,” wailed poor May ; “and 
— and I hoped so much— I thought at least he would love 
the child.” 


All this was becoming so intensely painful to Erne that 
he felt he could endure it no longer. 

“Can I be of any possible use to you or Lady Gil- 
more?” he said, addressing John Sumners. “I knew 
Lord Gilmore, and if I can do anything for you — ” 

“Thank you kindly, sir,” answered the old man. “My 
poor girl is in bitter grief, or she, too, would thank ye — 
but I would just like a word or two with ye before ye go 
— May, my lassie, I’ll be back to ye in a moment.” 

He placed her on a couch as he spoke, and beckoned 
to one of the servants to go near her, and then he left the 
room with Erne, and took him to another, and closed the 
door. 


“I heard down in the town, sir,” he said, “that a 
soldier gentleman who had known the poor lad who is 
gone, had been with the police to-day, when his body 
was found, and that you had come here to tell my daughter 
— you'll be the gentleman, I suppose? ” 

“ Yes ; I was there when Lord Gilmore’s body was found. 

“They say he was buried in the garden of the villa. 
Is that so ? ” 

“ Yes ; ” and then Erne described how the unhallowed 
grave had been discovered, and the old man groaned 
and solemnly raised his hand. 

“The Lord Himself pointed out the spot,’’ he said. 
“Though they had hidden the poor lad away in the deep 
earth, his blood still cried out for vengeance.” 

“It is a terrible affair, and my heart bleeds for your 
daughter. ” 

“They grew up together, sir — boy and girl — and were 
sweethearts when they were but bairns, and May’s heart 
was just set upon him. Aye, it was an ill business that 
they ever took the lad away from the village where he 
was reared. They who placed him there had better have 
let him stayed, as nought but mischief and black trouble 
has come of taking him away.” 

“It was a fatal mistake of Lady Gilmore’s from the 
first.” 

“Aye, she ha’na right to act as she did, and the lad 
Gerard might ha’ been living now and well if she had na’ 
twice wronged him. But, poor soul, poor soul, her pun- 
ishment will be hard to bear.” 


33 ° 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


“Yes, indeed. Well, Mr. Sumners, 1 think I shall go 
now, and I am glad at least that you are with your 
daughter and Erne put out his slender brown hand, which 
was grasped by Mr. Sumners’ horny work-worn palm. 

“I thank you, sir,” he said simply; and as these two 
men, so diverse in social position, parted, both had formed 
a high opinion of the other’s character. 

“That is an honest man,” thought Godfrey Erne, as 
he quitted the house. 

“Yon’s a true gentleman, ” reflected John Sumners, as 
slowly and sorrowfully he wended his way back to his 
daughter’s side. “ Would that my dear lass had wedded 
such an one as he.” 

Erne also felt oppressed and sorrowful, not only by 
the sad scene he had just left, and the terrible discovery 
he had witnessed a little earlier, but by the prospect of 
being bound to carry the tragic news to Nancy. He 
returned, therefore, at once to town, and about nine o’clock 
in the evening proceeded to Nancy’s house, and found 
her sitting in her pretty drawing-room with her mother. 

It was seemingly a peaceful, almost happy, scene that 
he entered ; and yet Erne knew that Nancy’s heart was 
already full of miserable anxiety, and that his tidings 
would only add to her trouble. She looked up quickly 
as he entered, and then rose and put her hand in his. 

“I have been hoping you would come,” she said. 
“ Have you been to Maidenhead ? ” 

“Yes,” said Erne, slowly, as he shook hands with Mrs. 
Loftus. 

“And,” went on Nancy, her breath coming a little 
faster, and her color varying, “ did you hear anything? 
Did the police search the villa where it is said Gerard 
used to go ? ” 

“I went with them there,” answered Erne so gravely 
that Nancy felt herself growing a little faint. 

“Did they find anything ?” she asked, with faltering 
tongue. 

“Yes,” said Erne, “ they did find something — I am the 
bearer of ill news, unhappily, Mrs. Gifford — Lord Gilmore 
is dead. ” 

“Dead!” echoed Nancy starting to her feet, every 
particle of color now fading from her face. “How — 
how do they know ? ” 

“ His body was found at the villa — I identified it — there 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


331 


is no doubt that Lord Gilmore has been done to death 
by foul means, probably for his money and valuables,” 
added Erne considerately, ‘ £ for he had been robbed eis 
well as murdered.” 

Nancy sank back on the couch behind her, and some- 
thing like a moan escaped her white lips. 

“My darling child, this terrible news has been too 
much for you,” cried Mrs. Loftus, rising hastily, and run- 
ning to Nancy’s side, and putting her arms round her. 
“don’t, dear, don’t look like that — Oh ! ring for some 
water, please. Major Erne ; I am afraid Nancy is going 
to faint.” 

But Nancy did not faint ; she lay back white and cold, 
as if utterly overcome, and drank some of the water which 
they brought her. 

“I will — be better presently,” she said, faintly; “it — 
was the shock,” and she looked up at Erne with her eyes 
full of fear. 

It all came back to Her at this moment, pictured so viv- 
idly before her eyes, that she might have been actually 
looking again on Hugh Gifford’s face — the face where 
shuddering horror was written so plainly — as he entered 
his dressing-room on the night of the 29th of April, when 
she had seen him hide something that he carried away ; 
when she had listened to the grim and guilt-pointing words 
that he had uttered in his drunken sleep. 

“I should perhaps not have told you,” said Erne, 
gently ; “but I did not know what to do.” 

“ Yes, it was best to tell me — best that I should know,” 
said Nancy, still in the same weak, faltering voice. 

“But you did not know this poor young man very well, 
you know, dear,” said Mrs. Loftus, soothingly, stroking 
her daughter’s cold hand. 

“Poor Gerard — poor, poor Gerard ! ” sighed Nancy. 

“ It’s a dreadful thing, certainly,” went on Mrs. Loftus, 
unconscious she was but increasing Nancy’s wretched- 
ness. ‘ ‘ But where was he found in the villa, Major Erne ? 
In one of the rooms ? ” 

Erne made a gesture to indicate to Mrs. Loftus that he 
did not wish to answer this question ; but Nancy saw this 
as well as her mother. 

“ Do not let us talk of it any more, continued Mrs. Lof- 
tus, now most anxious to repair her indiscretion. “ Tell 
me about Lady Blenkensop, Major Erne, and the General, 
and all our old friends. ” 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR, 


332 

So the subject was dropped for the present, and Erne 
and Mrs. Loftus began talking of various former military- 
acquaintances in the hopes of distracting Nancy’s mind 
from the weird subject on which it was brooding. But 
Nancy made no effort to join in this conversation. She 
lay back on the couch with her eyes cast down, her lips 
quivering occasionally, and her whole appearance indicat- 
ing that she was greatly overcome. Presently, however, 
Mrs. Loftus left the room for a short while, as she had 
received a letter from her sister-in-law, Mrs. Barclay, to 
which she had been writing a reply when Erne arrived, 
and which she now wished to despatch to the post. And 
she had scarcely closed the door behind her when Nancy 
started to her feet, and at once went to Erne and laid her 
hand on his arm. 

“Tell me, Major Erne — when mother is not here — 
where was he found ? ” she asked in a low, strange voice. 

“Why talk on such a subject? ” answered Erne, taking 
her by the hand. “ It only distresses you to do so ; try 
to forget it.” 

“ I must know,” went on Nancy in thrilling accents; 
“ was — he buried? Was he in a grave? ” 

“ I do not wish to tell you.” 

“I must hear — I — I know before you tell me — they had 
murdered him, and ” 

“Nancy, as your old friend, let me advise you to ask no 
more. This unfortunate young man was probably lured 
to this villa by the foreign woman who lived there for the 
purpose of robbing him, for he had certainly been robbed. 
This was the view the police took of it, and it is most 
likely the true one.” 

“Was he in a grave ? ” repeated Nancy. 

“Yes,” said Erne at last ; and as he made this admis- 
sion a cry of anguish escaped Nancy’s lips, and she fell 
tottering backward and would have fallen if Erne had not 
caught her in his arms. 

He carried her back to the couch and rang the bell vio- 
lently for her mother, and when Mrs. Loftus hurried into 
the room she found Nancy insensible. And all that night 
she was very ill, and as Mrs. Loftus sat by her bedside, 
Nancy began to mutter in her broken sleep, her mind evi- 
dently dwelling constantly on the tragic circumstances 
of her brother-in-law’s death. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 333 

“Don’t put him in unless he is dead ! ” presently Mrs. 
Loftus’ shocked ears heard her cry. “ For God’s sake, 
don’t do it unless you are sure !” 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

lt GREATER THAN I CAN BEAR ! ” 

And these weird and terrible words awoke for the first 
time a suspicion in the mother’s mind that a dark and 
haunting shadow had fallen on her daughter’s heart. That 
Nancy’s married life had been an unhappy one, and that 
her husband had forsaken her, Mrs. Loftus already knew. 
But as she listened, to Nancy’s feeble murmurings, she 
began to understand that some tragic under-current must 
also be oppressing her mind, and her extraordinary 
agitation at the news of her brother-in-law’s death naturally 
turned Mrs. Loftus’ thoughts in that direction. 

But she said nothing, and asked no questions, but nursed 
poor Nancy with the greatest tenderness and care. And 
Nancy was ill many days after this : ill when the Coroner’s 
inquest was held on the body of the unfortunate young 
man who had been lured to his doom. At this inquest 
Major Erne was called upon to give evidence, and the 
unhappy young widow also had to tell the same sad story 
that we already know ; how Gerard, Lord Gilmore, had 
left the Rookery on the 29th of April, with the avowed 
intention of starting for town by the nine o’clock train, 
and how she never saw him again in life. 

Then the station-master gave his evidence, and posi- 
tively swore that he saw and spoke to Lord Gilmore at 
five or seven minutes to eleven o’clock on the same night ; 
stating that he could not be mistaken on account of the 
peculiarity of Lord Gilmore’s figure ; and he also added 
that he appeared to have been drinking heavily, and spoke 
very indistinctly. 

John Sumners identified the body as that of his son-in- 
law, who had formerly borne the name of Gerard Brew- 
ster ; and Major Erne also identified the hapless young 
man who had died so drear a death. 1 he policemen 
gave evidence as to the finding of the body buried close 


334 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 


to the wall of the riverside villa, last inhabited by Ma- 
dame de Costa ; and inhabited by her at the time of the 
disappearance of Lord Gilmore ; and Mr. Gibson, the 
builder, stated the facts regarding- the letting of the house, 
and the return of the keys to the house-agent after a brief 
tenancy on the part of that lady. But the medical evi- 
dence was the most important ; the two doctors who had 
made the post-mortem examination proving Gerard, Lord 
Gilmore, had come to his death by poisoning, no wound 
whatever or injury being found on his person. 

‘ ‘ The only reasonable conclusion to be drawn from 
the evidence, therefore, was — provided that the station- 
master was correct in his statement — that the unfortunate 
young lord had, while in a drunken condition in the train 
been induced to leave it at the next station, and that he 
had been lured back to the villa, and there poisoned, and 
that Madame de Costa must have been cognizant of these 
facts, if not the actual perpetrator of the crime, and a 
warrant was accordingly issued for her apprehension. 

She had stated in a letter to the house-agent that she 
was leaving the villa on account of the illness of a relative 
in the South of France, and this was about the only clue 
she had left behind her. But a verdict of ‘ ‘ Wilful murder ” 
was returned by the jury against her, and also against her 
two Spanish servants, names unknown. 

Erne remained to hear the verdict, and then returned 
to town ; and later in the day the encoffined form of the 
murdered man was carried back to the house he had left 
with so light a heart, and the young wife he had ceased 
to love wailed and wept by it in bitterest grief. 

And other tears were shed — bitter, bitter tears — over 
the young lord’s tragic fate. Mrs. Brewster, who had 
remained at Wrothsley after her return there, had from 
the first news of his disappearance felt the deepest anxiety 
regarding him, and had eagerly sought for every scrap 
of information concerning him. And when the terrible 
tidings reached Wrothsley that his dead body had been 
discovered in the garden of the riverside villa, Mrs. 
Brewster gave way to the most passionate grief. She had 
truly loved the adopted son whom she had tended and 
reared as her own, and, to do Gerard justice, he had 
always been most kind and considerate to her, and even 
after he had assumed the title continued to treat her with 
affection, and used to write to her occasionally and send 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


335 

her presents ; and Mrs. Brewster was never weary of 
praising him. The news of his death was therefore a 
terrible blow to her, and she completely broke down under 
it, crying out that they had killed her boy by taking him 
away from her ; that had he been with her he would have 
been living. 

Father Hayward had given positive orders to every 
servant in the Castle that no newspaper was to be allowed 
to fall into Lady Gilmore’s hands that contained any 
allusions to her eldest son’s disappearance ; but when the 
actual account of the murder appeared the good man 
scarcely knew how to act. Fie telegraphed to Nancy to 
come to Wrothsley, but received a reply from Mrs. Loftus 
informing him that her daughter, Mrs. Gifford, was too 
ill to leave her bed, and quite incapable of travelling. 
Then he bethought him of Miss Gifford, but the grim old 
lady at Gateford Manor House positively refused to go near 
Wrothsley under the circumstances. 

“It’s all her own doing, not mine,” she said tartly. 
“ She unfitted this poor lad for his station, and then to 
punish Hugh Gifford for marrying a girl that is a deal too 
good for him, she told the truth about her own sin and 
folly, and this is the end of it ! The lad’s head was 
turned naturally enough and he was vain as a peacock, 
and some artful jade of a foreign woman had got hold of 
him no doubt, and flattered him up and made a fool of him, 
and then murdered him for the sake of his money, and 
his diamond rings and studs that he was so fond of 
displaying.” 

“He did not turn out certainly as I had hoped,” said 
Father Hayward sorrowfully. 

“No,” answered Miss Gifford sharply ; “ not quite such 
a good Catholic, eh, as you expected? He was every 
inch his father’s son except that he was humpbacked, 
and I must say amongst you, you have made a fine bus- 
iness of it for they tell me now the lad married some 
fisher-girl before he came to his end, and that a child is 
expected, so Hugh Gifford and my boy may never have 
the title after all.” 

“ That is true.” 

“And the worst of it, too, for no doubt this poor lad 
Gerard was not fit to be Lord Gilmore. I could just 
shake that stupid woman at Wrothsley when I think of all 
the mischief she has done, and the trouble she has 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT ; OR, 


336 

brought about by her folly and pride. For it was noth- 
ing else. If Nancy Loftus had been a duke’s daughter 
instead of a governess, vve should never have heard a word 
about the hunchback, who was supposed to be dead and 
in his coffin twenty-five years ago.” 

The priest said nothing more ; he saw, in fact, it was 
useless to try to persuade Miss Gifford to try to break the 
terrible news of her eldest son’s death to Lady Gilmore, 
and with a very sorrowful heart he returned to Wrothsley, 
feeling that this painful duty had now devolved on 
himself. 

He asked to see Lady Gilmore, and found her in a state of 
considerable excitement. 

“What is the matter, Father Hayward?” she said 
quickly as the priest entered the room. “The children 
have just been here and Dolly tells me the servants are 
whispering together, and won’t answer their questions ; 
and when I sent for Mrs. Brewster a message was 
brought to me that she was too ill to see me. - Does — 
does this mean anything?” 

She was sitting on a couch dressed in a bed-gown, 
and her face was pale and twitching, and there was a 
look of great anxiety in her eyes, and the good Father 
felt absolutely afraid to answer her question. 

“You must try not to excite yourself,” he s^iid. 

“You are keeping something back? You have heard 
some news? ” cried Lady Gilmore, raising herself up 
and grasping the end of the couch to support herself. 
“Has anything been heard of Gerard — of my son?” 

“ There has some news been heard of him,” said 
Father Hayward slowly and painfully. 

“Not bad news, say not bad news?’’ asked Lady 
Gilmore in great excitement. “ I have been getting 
uneasy, though Hugh said I need not be. Surely he is 
not ill ? ” 

“No, Lady Gilmore, he is not ill,” answered the priest 
solemnly. 

“Then what is it? Why do you look so strange? 
Oh ! don’t torture me thus. Has — has he done anything 
wrong — any folly ? ” 

Father Hayward cast down his eyes, which were full 
of compassion for the unhappy woman before him. 

“A great sorrow has come to you, my daughter,” he 
said ; “a great trial and grief— but we must bow to the 
Almighty Will ” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


337 


A piercing shriek interrupted Father Hayward’s words, 
and Lady Gilmore started forward and caught him by the 
arm. 

“What — what do you mean ? ” she cried, her face livid 
with sudden terror, and her sunken eyes gleaming 
wildly. 

* “I entreat you to try to compose yourself — the sorrow 
I speak of comes to us all — try, my daughter, I implore 
you, to bear it with submission — your eldest son, Lord 
Gilmore, is — dead ! ” 

Again a wild and piercing shriek fell on the priest’s 
startled ear. 

“Dead! dead!” she screamed. “Surely not dead! 
Oh ! Father Hayward, say not dead ! ” 

She grasped his arm tighter, and peered into his face 
with an expression of such misery that the priest was 
visibly moved. 

“It is a sad and sorrowful fact,” he said slowly, “and 
I grieve greatly to be forced to tell it to you — but Lord 
Gilmore is dea<^” 

“ How did he die? Why was I not told, then, that he 
was ill?” cried Lady Gilmore wildly. “Why was this 
kept from me?” 

Father Hayward was silent; what, indeed, could he 
say ? 

“ How long was he ill ? Why don’t you speak ? ” went 
on the unhappy lady, still looking wildly up in the priest’s 
averted face. “Say, how did he die?” 

“ It — was a sudden death,” faltered Father Hayward. 

“Sudden ! Do you mean an accident?” 

Again the priest could find no words to tell the dread- 
ful truth. 

“ What are you keeping back ? ” cried Lady Gilmore. 
“You will drive me mad — tell me the truth — how did he 
die ? ” 

“It is a terrible thing — he is supposed to have been 
m u rdered ” 

The shriek of horror which burst from Lady Gilmore’s 
frenzied lips at this dreadful word rang for days afterwards 
in Father Hayward’s ears. 

“ Murdered!” she repeated in a hollow voice of anguish. 
“Now — now I understand — my punishment is greater 
than I can bear — did Hugh ” 

But she never finished the terrible question trembling on 
22 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR, 


3 38 

her ashen lips. In a moment the hideous thought flashed 
through her brain that one brother had taken the other’s 
life ; that the sin of her youth had brought bitter misery 
first, and now death, and the idea killed her. 

She staggered back and would have fallen had not 
Father Hayward caught her in his arms, and as he did so 
he instantly perceived that she was stricken with another, 
and probably a fatal, fit. 

He laid her quickly on the couch, and then rang vio- 
lently for assistance, despatching a servant atoncefoi the 
nearest doctor, and directing telegrams to be sent by the 
butler, Graham, for her usual physicians in town. But 
long before any of them arrived, Father Hayward saw all 
medical assistance would be in vain, and that the gather- 
ing mists of death were fast dimming Lady Gilmore’s sight. 

He had but time to administer the last holy rites of his 
Church, and then, standing by her, holding the upraised 
crucifix before her dying eyes, he implored her to think 
no longer of the troubles of the world, but to give her last 
thoughts to God. 

“ Let your sorrow cease now, my daughter,” he cried; 
“ on the portals of Eternity do not look back ! ” 

She looked up for a moment, and then a shiver — a shud- 
der — passed through her frame, and quivered over her 
face ; and the next moment the wayward passionate heart 
had ceased to beat, the troubled, sorrowful spirit was still. 

Thus died Dorothy, Lady Gilmore, a woman the very 
warmth and strength of whose affections had caused all 
the miseries of her life ; a woman who loved blindly, 
passionately, but not wisely, and whose last moments 
were embittered by the memory of the early sin and folly 
by which she had vainly hoped to keep her husband’s 
love ! 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


339 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

FAMILY ARRANGEMENTS. 

They buried her by the side of the husband she had 
loved too well : in the family vault where she had hidden 
away the little empty coffin, and in which now three Lord 
Gilmores slept their last sleep. 

Thomas, the first lord, the founder of the family ; then 
Hugh, the second lord, the handsome husband of the 
dead woman ; and, lastly, Gerard — the murdered lord — 
who had been but carried there two days before his 
mother. 

And in the vault stood a gloomy-faced man, whose 
eyes were cast down, and who spoke to none. This was 
Hugh Gifford, the presumptive lord, in the event of Ger- 
ard’s child not being born a boy, as the title descended 
only to the male heirs. 

Hugh Gifford had been summoned by Mr. Stafford, the 
family lawyer, from Paris, to attend his mother’s 
funeral, and this gentleman had also detailed to him the 
events which had happened at the little riverside villa 
near Maidenhead ; the finding of his murdered brother’s 
body buried in the garden ; and the expected birth of the 
child, who might be destined to succeed to the wealth and 
honors of the House of Gilmore. 

Mr. Stafford also mentioned that a warrant for the ap- 
prehension of Madame de Costa and her two Spanish 
servants had been issued, and that some police-officers 
had started for the South of France in quest of this lady. 
He told him, too, that his mother’s sudden death had 
been caused by the terrible news of her eldest son’s 
murder, and he plainly hinted to him that he thought he 
ought to be now in England to look after the family 
interests. 

To this letter, after a little delay, Hugh Gifford had re- 
plied that he would come to England to attend his 
mother’s funeral, but that until Gerard’s child was born, 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


340 

he did not care to interfere with any of the present family 
arrangements. 

And he carried this out. He arrived at Wrothsley only 
on the morning of Lady Gilmore’s funeral, and he met 
Mr. Stafford there and repeated what he had written. 

“I prefer living in Paris, or somewhere on the Con- 
tinent, at present,” he said ; “for, as I told you when I 
wrote to you about paying my wife the allowance and 
the rent of the house in town, she and I have quarrelled, 
and I don’t care to come in her way.” 

“But surely with so charming a young lady as Mrs. 
Gifford, any temporary little quarrel might be made up,” 
smiled the lawer. 

Hugh Gifford shrugged his shoulders at the sugges- 
tion. 

“No,” he said, “we are better friends apart ; but of 
course you will let me know when this child is born?” 

“Of course ; in the event of it proving a girl you will 
be Lord Gilmore.” 

Again Hugh Gifford shrugged his shoulders. 

“And in the event of it proving a boy I won’t ? ” he said, 
with affected carelessness. “Well, such is life.” 

This brief conversation took place before the funeral, 
which was conducted with state and solemnity, and ac- 
cording to the rites of the Roman Catholic Church, in 
which faith the deceased lady had lived and died. Miss 
Gifford, of Gateford Manor House, however, refused to 
attend it, and Mrs. Hugh Gifford — Nancy — was too ill to 
do so. Lady Gilmore’s sudden death proved a second 
shock to Nancy, and her nervous prostration was very 
great. 

Hugh Gifford made no attempt to see her during his 
brief visit to England, or to hold any communication 
with her whatever. He left Wrothsley half an hour after 
his mother’s funeral was over, and shuddered as if struck 
with a sudden chill, as he quitted the family vault, and 
drank a great deal more brandy than was good for him, 
the family lawyer observed disapprovingly. 

It was a gloomy day at the great house after the old 
mistress had been carried away and the funeral guests 
were gone. Many of the servants received a month’s 
notice from Mr. Stafford, and only some of the old re- 
tainers were kept on until it was known who should 
actually be the next owner of the great possessions left 
by the first Lord Gilmore, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


341 

Mrs. Brewster remained as housekeeper, and Miss 
Pennythorne the children’s governess, and Graham, the 
butler, and a few others ; but the magnificent state apart- 
ments were closed, and their splendors hidden away from 
the sight of man. 

“ It’s a bad business from first to last,” Graham said to 
Mrs. Brewster, who wore deepest mourning for the adopt- 
ed son she had lost ; “if only my poor lady had let well 
alone, the place would have gone on as it was, and Mr. 
Hugh’s son would have been the little heir, and everything 
as it should be.” 

“They took my boy from me, and nothing but evil has 
come of it,” wept Mrs. Brewster, who could not get over 
poor Gerard’s sad fate. “Yes, she who has gone has a 
deal to answer for, and I only wish I had had nothing to 
do with it.” 

Mr. Stafford also arranged with poor May at Maiden- 
head — the widowed and lowly-born Lady Gilmore — that 
for the present she was to remain on at the Rookery ; but of 
course in the event of her child being born a boy, it would 
be her duty, he told her, to live in the principal family 
mansion, and rear her son according to his future state. 
In the meanwhile her father agreed to stay with her, and 
his presence was a great comfort and help to the almost 
broken-hearted May, who, whatever Gerard’s faults had 
been, had loved him dearly. 

Nancy heard of all these family arrangements from her 
mother, while still lying on her sick-bed; heard with fast 
beating heart that her husband had been present at his 
mother’s funeral, and was thankful she did not hear this 
until at the same time she was told that he had again left 
England. 

Mr. Stafford called on Mrs. Loftus — or rather on Nancy, 
who was too ill to see him — and gave Mrs. Loftus this in- 
formation, and told her, also, that until after the birth of 
Gerard’s child, that Hugh Gifford had. declined to make 
any changes whatever. 

And not until nearly a month after the discovery of Ger- 
ard’s body, and Lady Gilmore’s sudden death, did Nancy 
leave her bedroom and appear downstairs. She looked 
greatly changed and shattered ; so changed that when one 
afternoon, two days later, to her great surprise Miss Gif- 
ford walked into her drawing-room, where she was lan- 
guidly lying on a couch, the old lady lifted her hands in 
amazement. 


342 a BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 

“Child! what have you been doing with yourself?” 
she said. 

“I have been ill, you know, Miss Gifford,” answered 
Nancy, rising and kissing the wrinkled cheek. 

“ 111 ! Yes, ill, and grieving, too, eh ? Is it true, child, 
what I have -been told, that your husband has actually left 
you ? ” 

“Yes,” said Nancy, and her eyes fell, and her face 
grew a little paler ; “ it is true.” 

“Well, bad as the Giffords are, root and branch, about 
women, I could not quite have believed this ! What was 
the reason? You may as well speak plainly, for though 
I’ve a sharp tongue I can hold it, if needs be.” 

“We quarrelled.” 

“Quarrelled? Most married folks quarrel, but they 
make it up again/' replied Miss Gifford sharply, with her 
keen eyes fixed on Nancy’s changing face. “There is 
somthing behind, I suppose — something you are keep- 
ing back.” 

“I have nothing more to tell you, Miss Gifford.” 

“Least said, soonest mended, I supposeyou think, eh? 
Well, that friend of yours, Major Erne, told me that 
Hugh Gifford had left you, and that you had quarrelled ; 
and I told him pretty plainly to his face that I didn’t be- 
lieve you were a woman to quarrel without very good 
cause, which I suppose you had ? ” 

Nancy was silent. 

“The long and short of it is, child, that I think he has 
behaved shamefully to you, and I’ve come up to London 
on purpose to take you and little Tommy back with me 
to Gateford, and I think the sooner you make up your 
mind to leave here the better.” 

“ You are very good.” 

“ No, I’m not ! I don’t set up to be good, but I wish 
people to know that you are not to blame in this matter ; 
that the person to blame is Hugh Gifford, and all I can 
say is he ought to be thoroughly ashamed of himself if he 
isn’t ! ” 

“ My mother is with me, you know,” said Nancy, gently. 

“ Yes, I know ; but your mother can’t give you the same 
position in the world now that your husband has left you as 
your husband’s great-aunt can. How is the child ? ” 

“Very well indeed,” said Nancy smiling. 

“Send for him, and make up your mind to go back 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. . 


343 

with me the day after to-morrow, for you want country 
air and change for one thing, and protection for an- 
other.” 

And the old lady got her own way, and took Nancy 
and her boy back with her to Gateford Manor House, and 
Nancy told herself she was glad to go ; glad to leave the 
house where she had suffered such haunting anxiety and 
dread. 

In the still old garden at Gateford, with its trim clipped 
yew hedges, its ancient sun-dial, and moss-grown walks, 
she somehow felt more at peace. The child throve here, 
too, and the dark shadows from the past seemed further 
away. And sometimes Godfrey Erne used~to ride over to 
Gateford, and the old lady always made him welcome. 
Thus the summer passed away, and in the early autumn 
news came to Gateford that Gerard’s child was born, and 
that a new Lord Gilmore had come to share the pleasures 
and troubles of the world. 

And this news was a relief to Nancy, though a great 
disappointment to Miss Gifford, who openly grumbled 
at it. 

“Nobody wanted it,” she said; “little Tommy should 
have been the heir, not this fisher-girl’s brat.” 

But Nancy took her boy in her arms and kissed him 
tenderly, and murmured softly some words of thankful- 
ness in his ear. 

The birth of this child she knew would prevent Hugh 
Gifford from again holding a prominent position in the 
world ; would probably keep him still abroad, and Nancy 
knew that this was best. And a week or two later, when 
at the earnest advice of Mr. Stafford, the family lawyer, 
and Father Hayward, May, now Lady Gilmore, came to 
reside at. Wrothsley with her baby, Nancy proposed one 
day to Miss Gifford that they should go to call on her. 

“Not I,” replied the old lady, brusquely. “I’m no 
hypocrite, and I cannot go and tell her I am pleased to 
see either her or her baby, when I am not.” 

“ I should like to go if you don’t object, Miss Gifford. 
Poor young woman, I feel so much for her, and I should 
like to take our boy,” said Nancy. 

This soft answer mollified Miss Gifford. 

“Well, my dear, you are your own mistress ; go, if you 
want to go, and I’ve no objection for the boy going too, 
if you choose to take him.” 


344 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


Thus Nancy went, taking with her the fine little fellow, 
who was the idol of the household at Gateford ; and as 
she drove up to the stately mansion which had once been 
her home, and where her baby had been born she could 
scarcely control her emotions. 

She had not been strong enough before to go to Wroths- 
ley, since she had been at Miss Gifford’s, but Miss Penny- 
thorne and the children had been twice over to spend the 
day at Gateford while she had been there. And Nancy 
had written to Miss Pennythorne to tell her of her pro- 
posed visit to young Lady Gilmore, and there was great 
excitement in consequence at the Castle. 

She was received at the entrance by Graham with great 
state, and conducted to the morning-room which poor 
Lady Gilmore used to occupy ; and as she entered it, carry- 
ing her little son in her arms, a pretty fair young woman 
in the deepest mourning rose to receive her. 

“Mrs. Hugh Gifford, my lady,” announced Graham, 
and thus for the first time the sisters-in-law met, athwart 
whose lives such a tragic shadow had fallen. 

Nancy put out her hand a little nervously, and May 
took it gratefully and tremblingly. 

“It is very good of you to come and see me,” she said. 

“I am very pleased to do so,” answered Nancy gently. 

“And this is your little boy?” said May wistfully, and 
she took Master Tommy’s sturdy hand. “What a fine 
little fellow — he looks far stronger than my poor little 
one.” 

“ He has always been strong, I am happy to say.” 

“He is a beautiful child — the children told me about 
him — it is very kind of you to have brought him to-day.” 

“You must introduce him to his little cousin,” smiled 
Nancy. 

“Yes ; my poor baby is delicate — but no wonder ! ” 

May’s delicate complexion flushed painfully as she made 
this allusion to the sorrowful circumstances of the birth 
of her little son. 

Nancy did not speak for a moment, then she suddenly 
and impulsively put out her hand and clasped the young 
widow’s. 

“Do not let us talk of — the past,” she said with emo- 
tion ; “let us talk of the children. I should like to see 
your baby.” 

So the little heir of this magnificent house and the vast 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


345 


wealth left by his great-great-grandfather was brought in 
for inspection, and Nancy took him tenderly in her arms 
and kissed his tiny face, upon which her own boy, Master 
Tommy, whom she had placed in an easy chair, began 
• to roar vigorously. 

“Hush, hush, darling, ” cried Nancy, going up to him, 
and kneeling down before him with May’s baby, still in 
her arms ; “this is your little cousin, my darling, whom 
you must always love.” 

But Tommy turned away his head indignantly, and 
would not be comforted until Nancy resigned the new 
baby and again took him in her arms. 

“And his name?” said Nancy kindly, after she had 
succeeded in calming Tommy’s injured feelings. 

“There could be but one name for him,” answered May 
with quivering lips — “Gerard.” 

He was only a poor little specimen of humanity — a frail 
white-faced babe, born in trouble, as the poor young 
mother had said — yet he had already proved a blessing 
and a comfort to her desolate heart. 

“ He is a dear little fellow,” said Nancy. “And your 
father — Major Erne told me about him — is he with you ? ” 

“Yes, I persuaded him to come,” replied May simply. 
“It is so different everything here to what he has been 
accustomed to — but he came for my sake.” 

“I am very glad. Some day I hope you will let me 
know him.” 

“ He would think that a great honor. He said Major 
Erne seemed a very kind gentleman.” 

“ Yes,” said Nancy softly ; “I have known him a long 
long time — he has always been very good to me.” 

But their conversation was here interrupted by a loud 
rapping at the door. 

“ I have no doubt that is the children,” said May, going 
to the door ; “they have been waiting most anxiously to 
see you. You are a great favorite of theirs.” 

It was Dossy and Flossy, who rushed in and kissed 
Nancy and Master Tommy rapturously, who again re- 
sented the liberties he was being subjected to. 

“Let me nurse him,” said Dossy ; but Tommy firmly 
refused to leave his mother’s arms. 

“We are so glad you have come, Nancy ” went on 
Dossy. 

“Oh ! so glad,” echoed Flossy. 


346 A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 

Then they began to prattle on about the new baby, and 
Miss Pennythorne, and Miss Gifford ; asking when they 
might go again to Gateford, but strange to tell they never 
mentioned their poor mother. It seemed all so strange 
to Nancy to be here in such different circumstances to 
those in which she had first entered this house as gover- 
ness to these little girls. And the present Lady Gilmore 
was such a contrast to the last ! Still the visit passed off 
more pleasantly than she had hoped it would, and when 
she rose to go, May asked her almost humbly to come 
soon again. 

“I am very glad to know you,” said Nancy, and she 
kissed May’s soft pink cheek as she spoke, whose blue eyes 
instantly filled with tears. 

“I — know I am not — like you,” she faltered ; “but — 
for poor Gerard’s sake— will you come sometimes, for he 
was always so fond of you.” 

Thus the sister-in-laws parted; and Nancy returned 
to Gateford greatly pleased with poor May ; but Miss 
Gifford could not get over Master Tommy’s loss. 

‘ Just to think of a poor delicate puny brat like that 
stepping into Tommy’s place,” she said crossly; “and 
I’ve no doubt he’s got a humpback into the bargain. 

“ I don’t think so,” answered Nancy. 

“If it had only been a girl, it wouldn’t have mattered — 
but thank goodness it may die.” 

“Oh! no, no, Miss Gifford, do not say that!” cried 
Nancy with such sudden emotion in her voice and man- 
ner that the old lady looked at her in surprise. 

“Whatever is the matter with you, child ?” she said. 
“ It’s natural, isn’t it, that I should wish Tommy to be the 
head of the house when he is called after my brother who 
was the first Lord Gilmore? Tommy will be a rich man, 
whether he is Lord Gilmore or not, but still that does not 
make up.” 

“Nancy made no reply to this, but that night as she 
knelt by her baby’s cot, she prayed that the frail little child 
at Wrothsley might live. And she went again and again 
to see the young mother, whose sweet simple nature had 
won her own generous and kindly heart. And one day 
while she was at Wrothsley she and May encountered in 
the grounds a grave, almost solemn-faced man, whom 
May stopped. 

“This is my father,” she said, putting her hand affec- 
tionately on John Sumners’ arm. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


347 


Nancy at once held out her hand, and took the rough 
' toil-worn one in her own. 

“ How are you, Mr. Sumners ? ” she said in her pleasant 
, way. “ I have just been to see your little grandson, and 
have been telling his mother here how much stronger he 
i looks." 

“ I thank ye kindly, lady, for being so good to May,” 
answered honest John Sumners. “As for the babe, I 
think hes thriving now.” 

“Father’s so fond of him,” said May, “ and baby’s so 
fond of father, he cries to go to him.” 

John Sumners looked gratified, and then presently in- 
quired after Major Erne. 

“May tells me ye know him well ; will ye kindly gi’ 
him my respects when ye see him, for he’s a kindly, noble 
gentleman.” 

“ 1 will tell him,” said Nancy with a smile and a little 
blush ; and she did tell him that very day, for when she 
returned to Gateford she found Major Erne sitting with 
the old lady. 

‘ ‘ I have a compliment to tell you, ” said Nancy smilingly, 
as she shook hands with the grave-faced soldier. 

“ Well, what is it ? ” answered Erne with his gray eyes 
fixed upon her face. 

Then she told him what John Sumners had said, and a 
dusky blush stole over Erne’s brown face as he listened. 

“That’s a grand compliment indeed ! ” he said with a 
smile. “ I shall have to try to live up to it.” 

Miss Gifford, upon this, twice nodded her ancient 
head. 

“It strikes me that you do,” she remarked. 

“You always have a kind word for me, Miss Gifford,” 
said Erne, looking at her. 

“ I’ve pretty clear sight, though I’m not so young as I 
was,” she replied, again nodding her head. “Well, 
Nancy, how’s the child at Wrothsley to-day?” 

“Oh, he looks so much stronger.” 

“ I declare you just say that to aggravate me ! But be 
quick, now, and dress for dinner, for it’s just about the 
time.” 

Erne remained for dinner that day at Gateford, for 
whenever he arrived Miss Gifford used to insist on him 
staying, though she herself usually dined in the middle of 
the day ; and after the meal was over, the old lady hav- 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


348 

ing fallen into a gentle doze, Erne and Nancy stood to- 
gether in one of the old-fashioned deep-niched windows, 
looking out almost in silence on the still garden beyond, 
over which the yellow September moon was shining 
down. 

Presently Erne sighed restlessly. 

“What is the matter? ” asked Nancy glancing up at his 
grave face. “Are you thinking of something sad ? ” 

“Yes,” said Erne slowly ; “ I was thinking of a spoilt 
life.” 

Nancy did not speak for a moment, for she understood 
he was alluding to her own. 

“It’s best to bear it with patience, is it not ? ” she pres- 
ently said in a low tone. 

“ Yes, best and noblest — but you are braver than I 
am,” answered Erne. Then, carried away by the strong 
and enduring feelings of his heart, he spoke for the first 
time to Nancy of the love he had felt so long. 

“It is terrible to me,” he said in an agitated voice, “to 
know of the burden which you bear so bravely, and yet 
not to be able to help you in the least — for — for Nancy, 
long ago I have cared for you as I have cared for no other. 
I know I should not speak thus — I will not offend again 
— but will you tell me one thing? Had I broken the 
silence which I thought it my duty to keep in those days, 
would you have been my wife ? ” 

“Yes,” half-whispered Nancy, and her head drooped, 
and again there was a long silence between them. 

“Are you two people asleep there ?” presently cried 
Miss Gifford’s shrill voice. “ I declare I have not heard 
either of you speak for an hour ; but come here now and 
talk to me. ” 

“Yes, Miss Gifford,” said Erne, and he went and sat 
down by the old lady ; but Nancy stole quietly from the 
room, for her face was wet with tears. 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION, 


349 


* 

i 

I 


'S 


CHAPTER XL VI II. 


A 




HELL ON EARTH. 


ll 


i 

f 


Two whole years passed away after Nancy stood with 
Godfrey Erne, in the niched-window at Gateford Manor 
House, on that September evening, when he had first 
spoken to her of a love which had not grown cold, and 
he had never again alluded to it. Two whole years! 
with their changes and chances, and yet seemingly 
none had come to Nancy, she still spent a great deal 
of her time with Miss Gifford, though she kept on her own 
house in town, to which she had persuaded her mother 
and family to remove. Thus when she went there she 
fpund her mother to welcome her — but Nancy was hap- 
; piest at Gateford. 

She said it suited the child best, and the handsome 
little fellow liked it best, and all the summer months 
were generally spent in this quaint and quiet spot, where 
only Nancy and her son were young. But the revolving 
years had passed lightly over the head of the ancient 
dame, who dwelt among her old serving-people, in 
the old house, where she had lived so long. Miss 
Gifford was as sharp-tongued as ever, and more devoted 
to Master Tommy than ever. She had at last been per- 
suaded to ask “the other boy,” as she always called the 
little Lord Gilmore, over to the Manor House, and had 
observed with satisfaction how young he looked beside 
his stalwart cousin. 

She also still continued to regard Major, now Colonel 
Erne, with the greatest favor. He frequently came to 
Gateford, and it was a secret comfort to Nancy’s heart 
to know that she had a friend — brave and faithful — whom 
she felt sure would stand by in any hour of need. 

But they never spoke of it, nor of the love they both 
now knew. But sometimes Miss Gifford watching them 
with those sharp keen eyes of hers, wondered if Nancy 
regarded the handsome, loyal soldier with any stronger 
feelings than friendship. But if so she made no sign, and 


350 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , 


he made none. It was a silent compact between them 
binding to their hearts alone. 

And it chanced two years after, in the very month, 
when for once Erne had for a few moments loosed the 
strong curb on his lips, that he was again at Gateford. 
He had been on leave for several weeks, and Nancy and 
he had therefore not met for some little time, but the day 
before, he had dined at the Manor House, by Miss Gifford 
invitation, and had remained all night. 


And after breakfast — in early morning — these two went 


out into the dewy garden, and walked pensively enough 
on the moss-grown paths. A handsome pair, and brave j 
and honest both, their shadowed lives were yet sweeter j 
to them for the unacknowledged bond that bound them 
fast. Yet they were talking in the most ordinary way, j 
little dreaming that a change. — momentous great — was 
creeping near. 

The sun was shining and the cobwebs sparkling on the 
grass and on the boughs, and the old trees around them 
were just beginning to shed the first leaves of the falling 
year. A peaceful scene ; the gray old Manor House 
standing as a background, and even the very flowers 
around them telling of long by-gone days ; and presently 
the butler — ancient too — appeared, advancing towards 
them, carrying on an antique silver salver, a large packet 
for Nancy, which the early post had just brought in. 

It was directed in the handwriting of her mother, and 
Nancy opened it with a smile, thinking it probably con- 
tained letters from her brother and little sisters. But as 
she glanced at the superscription of the inner envelope, 
which was large too, and sealed, she gave a half-cry, and 
her face grew suddenly very pale. 

“It is from — ” escaped her lips. 

“Not from Mr. Gifford?” asked Godfrey Erne, 
sternly. 

“ Yes,” faltered Nancy ; “I — I — cannot read it here.” 

“Will you sit down on that seat under the tree there — 
and I will leave you to read it ? ” said Erne, whose face 
also had grown very pale. 

“Yes,” she said, for she felt faint, and her footsteps 
stumbled. It was such a shock to her to see that hand- 
writing again, to have all the past brought back to her as 
it were, in a moment. 

Erne walked by her side to the seat he had indicated, 




LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


35 * 


I 

1 and then with a very moody brow he turned away. Had 
! the suspended sword fallen ; did the faithless husband 
I now wish to return to the faithful wife ? 

In the meanwhile, with trembling fingers, Nancy had 
opened the inner large envelope which contained several 
sheets of foreign notepaper, covered with writing. They 
were numbered, and number one began as follows : — 

“Nancy, — I would not dare write this to you — I should 
have no right to do so — but that I am a dying man. All 
the doctors tell me I cannot live long ; a few weeks, a 
few days perhaps ; and therefore I venture, knowing the 
sweetness and truth of your nature, to break my long 
silence. 

“ I do so for two reasons ; I wish — if you will so far 
forgive me — to look once more on your face, and that of 
our boy’s before I die ; and I wish also for you to know 
! the truth about that horrible night, when the black misery 
of my life began. I know that you suspected me, for I 
saw it written on your shrinking face, and I suppose 
therefore, during that mad fit of drinking I had the folly 
to indulge in, and through which you so loyally watched 
me, and screened me from the suspicions of others, that 
I had uttered with my tongue, some allusions to the 
haunting horrors which maddened and pursued my soul. 

“To tell my miserable story rightly, I must go back 
to the days when I was quite a young man, to the days 
when I met abroad a girl, beautiful with the beauty of 
her race. She was half-English and half-Spanish, for her 
father had married an Andalusian woman — ” 

Thus far Nancy read, and then a shuddering cry escaped 
her pallid lips at this terrible confirmation of her own 
suspicions. And the moody-browed man, who was 
pacing one of the walks near, heard that faint cry, and 
stopped to listen. Again Nancy moaned aloud, and a 
moment or two later Godfrey Erne approached the seat 
where she was sitting with Hugh Gifford’s letter lying 
open on her lap. 

He looked eagerly at her white face,, and when Nancy 
saw him she put out her hand, as if appealingly. 

“Godfrey,” she said, in a low and broken voice. 

“ What is it? Can I help you in anything ! ” he asked, 
as he took her hand in his, for he saw Nancy was terri- 
bly overcome. 

f ‘ I should like to go in — he is very ill — I — I cannot 


35 2 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR , 


finish this letter here,” answered Nancy, in the same 
broken voice. 

“Come then,” said Erne, “take my arm — it is only a 
few steps — let me carry your letter for you. ” 

“No, no!” cried Nancy, in sudden terror, and she 
clasped the letter still tighter in her hand ; and then rose 
tremblingly, and had actually to lean on Erne’s arm for 
support as she tottered towards the house. 

Miss Gifford, from her dining-room window", saw them 
walking thus, and noticed the deadly whiteness of Nancy’s 
face. 

“ Something must have happened, ” thought the shrewd 
old woman ; “perhaps I had best leave them alone.” 

She did not go out into the hall, therefore, to make any 
inquiries, but a few moments later Erne entered the room 
looking exceedingly disturbed. 

“What is the matter?” said Miss Gifford sharply. 
“Has Nancy had any bad news, she looked as if she 
were going to faint ? ” 

“Mr. Gifford is very ill,” answered Erne with reserve. 

“Serve him right!” retorted Miss Gifford, yet more 
sharply. “ He surely has not had the impudence to ask 
Nancy to go to nurse him ? ” 

“I did not see the letter.” 

“I shall see it though ! Where is Nancy? ” 

“She went to her own bedroom.” 

Miss Gifford, therefore, at once proceeded there as fast 
as her ebon stick and her ancient legs could carry her. 

She rapped at Nancy’s door, but on receiving no reply 
she turned the handle, but found the door was locked 
inside. 

“Child, I wish to speak to you!” she cried in her 
shrill voice. 

“ I cannot see anyone just now, Miss Gifford — please 
don’t ask me,” answ r ered Nancy from within, and Miss 
Gifford could tell by her tone she was terribly agitated. 

“Surely that man — Hugh Gifford ” 

“ Oh ! please go away, Miss Gifford, I cannot bear it ! ” 
wept Nancy ; and after a moment’s consideration Miss 
Gifford did turn away, grumbling, and very full of wrath 
as she went. 

“ I could not have believed she was such a fool,” she 
muttered grimly ; “crying about that man, indeed ! ” 

In the meanwhile poor Nancy was trying to compose 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


353 


herself sufficiently to go on reading Hugh Gifford s mis- 
erable words. She raised again the note-sheet she had 
been reading in the garden ; she re-read the sentence she 
had left unfinished there. 

“To tell my miserable story rightly, I must go back to 
the days when I was quite a young man ; to the days 
when I met abroad a girl, beautiful with the beauty of 
her race. She was half-English, half-Spanish, for her 
father had married an Andalusian woman, and I loved 
this girl, and in my boyish folly I promised to marry her. 
Nancy, I did not keep this promise ; she was totally un- 
educated — but a peasant girl in fact — and I grew weary 
of a companion with whom I had nothing in common. 
And so time went on, and three years passed away, and 
then Alice told me she was about to become a mother, 
and entreated me for the child’s sake to fulfil at last the 
promise I had made to her. To my shame I refused, 
and she then began to threaten me, and finally followed 
me to Wrothsley, and sent for me there to meet her in 
the park. We had a stormy interview ; she declaring 
she would go and tell my mother, and I retorting that it 
would be useless. Suddenly she produced a small revol- 
ver and said she would shoot me, unless I fulfilled my old 
promise to make her my wife. I thought she was only 
trying to frighten me, and I laughed, but the next moment 
she actually shot me, and as I became almost immediately 
unconscious, she, believing she had killed me, turned and 
fled from the spot. 

‘ ‘ Do you understand now, Nancy ? This most unhappy, 
most unfortunate woman having wounded me severely 
as you know, went back to town in a state of semi-mad- 
ness I afterwards learnt, and then tried to commit suicide 
by shooting herself also. She barely escaped with her 
life, and the doctor who attended her wrote to me to tell 
me of this during my illness, and naturally I was terribly 
shocked. 

“And now I am coming to that part of my life, when 
I met you, Nancy — met you and loved you very dearly. 
You will think these are very strange words for me now 
to write to you, but they are nevertheless very true ones. 
Yes, Nancy, in spite of all I have done I loved you, and 
left you only because this separation was actually forced 
on me. 

“I need not repeat here the miserable events that 
23 


354 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR , 


followed our marriage — my mother’s utterly unjustifiable 
action seemed to change my whole nature and filled my 
heart with intense bitterness and hatred for the man who 
had supplanted me ; who had taken the name I had 
borne all my life, and who actually, as you know, per- 
sonally assaulted me. Unhappily for me, unhappily for 
her, just at the very time when the most burning indig- 
nation against this man filled my heart I met again by 
accident the woman who had shot me, and then herself, 
and who had always loved me too well. You, with your 
gentle nature, had tried to soften my feelings to this man ; 
had praised him, and seemed to like him, and this angered 
me exceedingly. But Alice Ferrars entered eagerly and 
passionately into my wrongs. She spoke to me of ven- 
geance ; told me that in her land the Spaniard kills the 
man who had wronged him ; and she hinted darkly that 
my enemy might die. Nancy, these words came back 
and back to me — this hated brother might die — and then 
all would be again as it had been before my mother had 
told the story which had so entirely changed my life. 

“ I heard stories of this man, too; of his low life and 
degraded habits, and how he was dragging the name I 
had borne all my life to the dust ; and the longing for his 
death grew stronger and stronger within me. You ceased 
to speak of him, but I secretly resented your apparent in- 
difference to my feelings on the subject, and listened with 
greedy ears to the other woman’s passionate and sympa- 
thizing words. 

“ But why write any longer of my temptations and my 
hatred? You know they were both strange enough, and 
at last they brought their evil and terrible fruit. Alice 
Ferrars, in an accursed moment, suggested, and I listened, 
that this man should be lured to his death, that she should 
be the temptress ; and to aid her two of her Spanish rela- 
tions — a man and a woman — were bribed to come to Eng- 
land, and a house was taken down the river, and Alice made 
the acquaintance of the man I hated, calling herself by 
another name. She was handsome, and the man fell an 
easy victim. We planned it all — as I write these words 
I know I was mad then, devil-possessed, accursed ! Yes, 
it was so, but the mad and hideous deed was done. The 
poor fool was flattered by soft words, and wiled by the 
smiles, and walked straight into the snare we had laid 
for him. We fixed the day of his murder, and Juan, the 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 


355 

Spaniard, dug his grave beforehand. You remember the 
night, Nancy — the black and bitter night, when I came 
back to the house where my innocent wife and child were 
sleeping, with murder on my soul ? So God help me, 
that night was the first time that any remorse had ever 
crossed my mind ! Before, I had only felt hatred, and an 
eager and burning desire for his death. But that night I 
was dining with some men at the club, and suddenly the 
horror of the whole thing — the guilty knowledge of what 
was about to take place, rose before me so grimly, so ter- 
ribly that I could not bear it. I rose, and left the table, 
telling the others I felt ill, and having partly disguised 
myself I started in the train for Maidenhead, hoping that 
I should be in time to stay their hands. 

“ A storm was raging when I arrived there, but I ran 
as fast as I could go along the slippery tow-path by the 
river edge. At last I reached the little villa — my God ! 
even now I can scarcely write of that frightful hour — I 
stole into the house, and I met the Spanish woman, who 
significantly pointed to the door of one of the rooms. 

“ ‘Tell her I want her/ I whispered hoarsely, and the 
Spanish woman nodded, and went into the room she had 
indicated, and a moment or two later Alice Ferrars came 
out of it, and as I looked in her face I saw I was too late. 

“I caught her hand — ‘Alice, don’t do it ! ’ I hissed 
into her ear, and this was her reply : 

“ ‘Hush, what folly/ she said, ‘your brother is about 
to die ; ’ and her expression was terrible as she spoke. 

“She had left the room door ajar, and one moment I 
glanced in. The wretched man was lying on a couch 
struggling in his death agony — but I cannot describe it, 
nor the scene that followed. She had poisoned him in 
his wine, as he lay half-asleep, and a moment or two 
later it was all over, they told me, and they began to talk 
of carrying him to his ready grave. 

“I have only an indistinct recollection of what imme- 
diately followed, for I began drinking glass after glass of 
raw brandy, seeking to satisfy my own terrible thoughts. 

I heard them, I thought, carrying something heavy past 
the room door where I was, and I remember calling out to 
them for God’s sake not to bury him until they were sure 
he was dead. And then presently Juan came in bearing 
on his arm two coats rolled up together, and fastened 
securely by a leather strap. He too had seemingly been 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 


356 

drinking, for he half-insolently told me that I must con- 
sent to have this bundle of coats fastened on my back, so 
as to represent the hump of the dead man ! I refused at 
tirst, but he persisted. He was running the risk of his 
neck to please me, he said with his odious grin, and I 
must help him a little bit since fortune sent me on the 
spot. The dead man was well known at the railway 
station and if he was seen to leave by the late train for 
town, no one would look for him at Maidenhead, and 
thus there would be no risk of discovery at all. He 
almost forced me to consent, and fastened on this hideous 
burden, and then flung a rough cape cloak over my 
shoulders, declaring that now no one could tell any dif- 
ference between myself and the dead man. Thus the 
station-master was deceived, and the dark secret hidden 
for a time, only, as you know, to be discovered later. 

“Nancy, from that dreadful night, my life has been a 
hell. What do you think was the reward Alice Ferrars 
had bargained for ; the price that I had to pay for this 
black deed? If she killed this man, I had to forsake you 
— you, my boy, and our home ! I paid this price as you 
also know ; I left the gentle woman who had tried to 
soften my evil passions, and I went to the one who had 
fanned them ; went with loathing and disgust in my 
heart. From the very hour, indeed, when I had looked 
on Alice Ferrars’ face, when the miserable man lay dying, 
a sudden change, an absolute revulsion took place in my 
feelings towards her. She was handsome, but her beauty 
gave me no pleasure ; she loved me, but I shuddered at 
her touch. Yet I was bound to her ; bound by a tie I dare 
not break, and great as was my sin, my punishment was 
still greater. 

“ I took a house for her, in one of the suburbs here, 
and the life we led there was literally, as I told you before, 
a hell upon earth. For soon fear came to add its terrors. 
The dead man’s body was found : a warrant for the ap- 
prehension of Madame de Costa, the name that Alice was 
known by at the riverside villa, was issued, and she lived 
in perpetual dread of recognition. She scarcely ever left 
the house, she changed the color of her hair, but she was 
always in terror. Her Spanish relations, too — the wretch 
Juan and his sister — were forever writing for money, and 
threatening unless vast sums were sent to them. The 
constant strain and misery finally broke down my health, 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION, \ 


357 

and for more than a year I have been drifting to the grave. 
I caught a severe cold, and it settled on my lungs, and 
the haunting remorse and wretchedness of my life, has 
done the rest. And Alice Ferrars’ sudden and painful 
death, six months ago, was also terrible to witness. She 
died of diphtheria; died unwillingly and terror-stricken, 
and I felt as I stood by her, that I — and I only, had 
wrecked her life. 

“ Nancy, I have now nothing more to tell ; this miser- 
able confession of sin and bitter remorse is ended, and I 
have but to ask your pardon for the misery I have brought 
upon you, and to make one last request. Will you come 
to see me once more, and bring the boy? If you will, 
you will brighten the last hours of a most unhappy man. 

“ Hugh Gifford.’’ 

Nancy read this long letter ; read the terrible despairing 
words with blanched face and quivering lips, and as she 
drew near the conclusion, heavy tears rolled down her 
cheeks, and blotted the dreary lines. 

“Poor, poor Hugh,” she murmured, and her thoughts 
travelled back to the days of their young love ; to the days 
when she had first looked on the bright, handsome face, 
and listened smilingly to the winning tongue. It was all 
over now ; that love was dead and cold in Nancy's heart, 
for Hugh Gifford had killed it ; but her woman’s pity was 
there still, and she made up her mind to grant his last 
request. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

MISS GIFFORDS WILL. 

She went downstairs about an hour later, and quietly 
entered the room where Miss Gifford was sitting knitting, 
in a very bad humor, and Colonel Erne reading the news- 
papers also with a moody brow. He looked up as Nancy 
walked in, and saw her face was pale, but composed, 
but the old lady did not deign to take any notice of her 
entrance. 

“Miss Gifford,” said Nancy addressing her, “I am 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT \ OR , 


358 

going to leave here to-day — I am going to take the boy to 
see his — dying father. ’’ 

“ You are going to do nothing of the kind,” answered 
Miss Gifford sharply ; “ little Tommy shall leave here on 
no such errand — dying ! I don’t believe he’s dying ! ” 

“It’s his last request, and I cannot refuse it,” said 
Nancy, quietly but firmly. 

“ Have you no pride left in you ? ” cried Miss Gifford, 
throwing her knitting on the floor in her excitement. 
“ Going to see a man who has disgraced us all ; who is 
living with another woman — ’’ 

“She is dead,” interrupted Nancy. 

“She may be dead, or she may not be dead for any- 
thing I care,” continued the irate old lady, “but I won’t 
have little Tommy contaminated by going near such 
people.” 

“Dear Miss Gifford,” said Nancy gently, and she took 
Miss Gifford’s withered and unwilling hand, “ I would 
not, you know, willingly act against any wish of yours, 
but — if — if you think of him, lonely, dying, pining to 
look on his boy’s face, I am sure you would not wish me 
to refuse to take the child? I must take him — I have no 
choice.” 

“7'hen 1 11 have nothing more to say to any of you — 
I’ll alter my will.” 

Nancy did not speak, but she cast down her eyes. 

“Won’t that stop you?” inquired Miss Gifford grimly. 

“No, Miss Gifford,” again answered Nancy, looking 
up, “I must go.” 

Upon this Colonel Erne laid down his newspaper, and 
approached the two ladies. 

“If Mr. Gifford is so ill, Miss Gifford,” he said, “it is 
but natural he should wish to see his child.” 

“He chose to forsake his child, and his wife too,” re- 
torted the ancient lady. 

“ But the approach of death makes a great difference,” 
answered Erne. “ And it is like — Nancy to go.” 

He had never called her Nancy in Miss Gifford’s pres- 
ence before, and she instantly remarked it. 

“ I call her a fool for her pains,” she said very crossly. 

“ When do you wish to go ? ” he continued now address- 
ing Nancy. 

“To day/’ she answered, “he — poor fellow says he 
may not live many days.” 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION . 


3 59 

“If you will allow me, I will escort you there,” then 
went on Erne; “it would be too much for you to go 
alone with the child.” 

< ‘ ‘ Thank you, Godfrey, ” answered Nancy gratefully, and 
simply ; “it will be a great comfort to me to have you 
with me.” 

“Hum!” grunted Miss Gifford indignantly, and then 
she turned her back and hobbled out of the room. 

After she had gone Nancy and Erne soon arranged all 
the details of their journey, and an hour later they had 
left the Manor House, taking with them Master Tommy 
and his nurse. They travelled as quickly as they could, 
and said very little to each other on the way ; the boy 
carrying on the principal part of the conversation. Miss 
Gifford had condescended to bid them good-bye, and had 
kissed Tommy, but not Nancy, to mark her disapproval 
of her conduct. 

“ Bring the boy back at any rate,” she said to Erne as 
a parting salutation. 

“ I shall bring them both back,” answered Erne gravely. 

“I’m not so sure of that,” retorted Miss Gifford, and 
these words did not add to Erne’s happiness during the 
journey. 

Nancy noticed how much more restless he was than 
usual, and how his lips twitched. But he said nothing 
on the subject of his own feelings, but was grave and 
kindly, as usual, and did everything he could for the 
comfort of Nancy and the boy. 

Then when they arrived at Paris, they drove direct to 
an hotel, where they left Master Tommy and his nurse, 
and then proceeded at once to the address that Hugh 
Gifford had given Nancy in his letter. Erne here de- 
scended from the carriage, and left Nancy pale and trem- 
bling. A moment or two later the door of the house was 
opened, and Erne held a short conversation in too low a 
tone for Nancy to hear, whose heart was now beating 
almost audibly. 

Presently Erne went back to the carriage, and Nancy 
noticed that his face was very white. 

“Let me get in beside you for a moment or two, 
Nancy,” he said, and in another instant he was at her side. 

“ I have something to tell you, Nancy,” he went on, 
and he took her hand. 

“ What is it ? ” she asked, faintly, 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT, OR, 


360 

“It is something very sad.” 

“ Not — ” said Nancy, with a sort of a gasp. 

“Yes,” answered Erne gently to the unspoken ques- 
tion ; “ Mr. Gifford died suddenly this morning — he went 
out for a short walk, and broke a blood-vessel in the 
streets. ” 

“Oh! Godfrey!” cried Nancy, and she put her hand 
over her face, and tears rushed into her eyes. 

“I will tell the driver to take a turn or two,” said Erne, 
“the shock must be very great to you.” 

Nancy did not speak ; she leaned back in the carriage, 
and thought of the brief life that had just closed. She 
thought too, of the dark tragedy that was now ended, and 
of the mother and two sons, whose fates had been so 
dear. 

“I saw his servant,” continued Erne, speaking still 
in that kind, considerate voice, “and he told me he did 
not suffer ipuch, but that he had been getting gradually 
weaker for more than a year — poor fellow, he is quite 
young is he not ? ” 

“Yes,” answered Nancy, with a sob. 

“ It is a pity he did not live to see his child.” 

“Yes,” again said poor Nancy, but in her heart she 
knew it was better for his child, that he was gone. There 
was no danger now, and the shadow of his father’s hid- 
den sin could never fall on the boy’s innocent head. 

“I should like to see him,” presently said Nancy, rais- 
ing herself up. 

“I thought you would like to see him,” replied Erne, 
“so I told the driver to keep in the neighborhood.” 

So they returned to the house where Hugh Gifford had 
died, in his young manhood, and Nancy stood still and 
silent, looking at the face now so calm and beautiful. 
Erne went into the death-chamber with her, but in a little 
while Nancy asked to be left alone, and as the door closed 
after Erne, she fell down on her knees by the side of the 
dead man. 

“Oh ! God be merciful to him,” she prayed ; “he suf- 
fered so much — Oh ! poor, poor Hugh ! ” 

Long she knelt there, praying for Tim in her simple, 
hearttelt words. She had forgiven him all his wrongs 
against her, and only remembered his temptations, and 
his bitter remorse. And she thought too of the days when 
he had loved her, and of their brief happiness in the very 


LADY GILMORE'S TEMPTATION. 361 

city where he had passed away, miserable and alone. 

“I will bring- your boy to see you, Hugh/'* she whis- 
pered softly, before she left him, and she bent down and 
kissed the cold brow of the handsome, familiar face. 


She took the child to see him the next day, and the 
little fellow, with no small awe, laid a beautiful wreath on 
his dead father s breast, and these flowers were afterwards 
placed with him in his grave. It pleased Nancy to do 
everything as though Hugh Gifford had never sinned 
against her, and Erne silently watching her began to 
wonder if her love had survived his absence and neglect. 
But it was not so ; and when Erne asked her if she wished 
to convey his body to Wrothsley, she answered with 
sudden agitation. 

“ No, no, certainly not — let him sleep here.’' 

Not among his kindred in the family vault of the 
chapel attached to the great mansion his grandfather had 
built ; not by the mother whose heart he had broken, nor 
by the brother whose life he had destroyed. Let him sleep 
far away from them — among strangers — and Nancy shud- 
dered, and thought the dead brothers would not rest 
in peace if laid side by side. 

So they buried him in the city, where he died, and his 
wife and child followed him to his grave, and laid flowers 
there, and paid him all outward semblance of respect and 
affection. No one but Nancy knew the dark secret that 
was buried with him ; though one of those who stood 
round his grave suspected it, for somehow Erne had 
always, in his own mind, connected Hugh Gifford with 
his brother’s tragic death. 

He had left a will, and Nancy suddenly found herself a 
rich woman. He had bequeathed five thousand a year to 
her for life, and the control of the whole of his large in- 
come until his son became of age. His mother’s death 
had brought a great accession to his fortune, and he had 
died a wealthy, though a most miserable, man. 

Nancy and her boy remained about a week in Paris 
after he was buried, and then the young widow and her 
son returned to England, and Nancy went, by Miss Gif- 
ford’s especial request, straight back to Gateford, only 
stopping a few hours in town to see her mother. 

Miss Gifford, indeed, felt not a little ashamed of herself 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT OR , , 


362 

when she heard of Hugh Gifford’s sudden and melancholy 
death. To do her justice she had not believed he was 
dying at all ; and that he should die when his wife and 
child were actually on their way to bid him good-bye, 
affected the old lady very strangely. 

“But it’s a good thing,” at last she decided; and yet 
she received Nancy with an unwonted moisture in her 
eyes, and made no allusion at all to the melancholy cause 
of her hurried journey, nor her own bad temper about 
it. 

Master Tommy had brought her as a present from Paris 
a wonderfully beautiful white embroidered shawl, and 
the old lady accepted the peace-offering very graciously. 
She also received Erne very graciously. 

“Thank you for bringing them both safely back,” she 
said. 

“I know what good care you take of them both,” 
answered Erne smiling pleasantly, and then changed the 
conversation which he thought might be painful to Nancy. 

Nevertheless September waned into October, and Oc- 
tober crept on apace, and the russet leaves began to fall 
in showers from the tall elms at Gateford, and still Miss 
Gifford heard nothing of the marriage on which her heart 
was set. 

“ What on earth is he waiting for now,” she many a 
time thought impatiently, looking from Erne’s handsome 
face to Nancy’s sweet one. 

“ I must give him a hint,” at last she decided, and we 
shall see how she actually did this, and how one day 
towards the end of October, in her quaint way she let 
Erne know what she wished. 

It was in the afternoon — a bright, breezy afternoon — 
and Miss Gifford had grown absolutely weary of watch- 
ing a slender, black-robed figure, and Erne’s soldier-like 
one, pacing up and down the moss-grown walks at Gate- 
ford. 

“It’s the same thing every day,” thought the old lady, 
eyeing them from the windows, “and yet nothing comes 
of it.’’ 

Yet at the very moment she was thinking this, Erne 
was telling Nancy the old, old story, and she was listening 
with blushing cheeks and a happy heart. 

“It is too soon,” she said softly. 

“But I have waited a long time, Nancy,” pleaded Erne, 


LAD V GILMORE'S TEMPTA TION. 363 

“ and I should not have found courage to speak now, only 
1 think we should be happy/' 

“ Yes,” whispered Nancy, yet more softly. 

“Then you will be my wife, dear?” 

“ Yes,” again said Nancy, but at this moment Miss Gif- 
fords ancient butler appeared on the scene, and informed 
them that Miss Gifford wished to speak to them. 

They went into the house together, with the sweet 
knowledge of their mutual love gladdening their hearts, 
and found the old lady sitting in state in the dining- 
room, with her gold spectacles on her nose, and a roll of 
legal looking papers spread out before her. 

“I want to read to you my will, young people,” she 
said, addressing them, “ will you both please to sit down. 

Whereupon she took up the papers before her, and began 
to read aloud her last will and testament, in which she 
bequeathed in legal terms the whole of her large fortune 
— with the exception of one legacy — to Thomas Gifford, son 
of her great nephew Hugh Gifford, and her godson, named 
after his great-great-grandfather, Thomas her brother ; the 
joint guardians of this great sum being Colonel Godfrey 
Erne and Nancy Gifford his mother. And she. further 
bequeathed to the said Colonel Godfrey Erne, the sum of 
twenty thousand pounds, from a feeling of personal regard 
of his character, and also because of his resemblance to a 
friend long dead ; a condition however being attached to 
this legacy, which was, that he should marry the said 
Nancy Gifford within six months after her widowhood. 

“ There, sir!” she said, rising and touching Erne’s 
shoulder with her bony hand as she passed ; “if you can’t 
take a hint, I don’t think much of you ! ” 

“ My dear Miss Gifford, I didn’t want one ! ” said Erne 
rising with a laugh, and taking her hand, “Nancy has 
already promised to be my wife/’ 

“ Well I declare ! ” retorted the old lady, “ the slyness 
of some people — but all the same I thought you were so 
long about it, I’d just give you a hint” 

There is now little more to tell ; Nancy married God- 
frey Erne within the given time, and the bitter sorrows 
of her life seem to trouble her no more. They have no 
secrets, these two, and Nancy knows she can safely trust 
the brave and faithful heart that her sweet girlish face 
won long ago. They live near Gateford, but not with 
Miss Gifford, and that ancient lady frequently boasted she 
had made the match. 


A BITTER BIRTHRIGHT. 


3 6 4 

But Miss Gifford has one great annoyance, which is the 
daily improving health of little Lord Gilmore. 

“I declare I believe he is going to live after all,” she 
said one day to Nancy ; “but still Tommy will be a rich 
man.” 


-^r\ XX our publications are for sale at 

<2/A 

tbe Ieabing bookstores tbrougbout 
tbe TUniteS States anS Canaba, or will 
be sent postdate, on receipt of price, 
ifull catalogues maileb on application to 


UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY, 

SUCCESSORS TO 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

142, 144, 146, 140 & 150 Worth St., 3, 4, 5 & 6 Mission Place. 
NEW YORK. 


Prose Dramas of Henrik Ibsen. 

IN TWO VOLUMES. 

Price per Volume, Cloth, $i.oo; Paper, 50 Cents. 

With Critical and Biographical introduction by EDMUND GOSSE 


Part I.— Containing : “A Doll’s House,’’ ‘ The Pillars of Society/ 
“Ghosts,” “kothmersiiolm.” 

Part II. — Containing: “The Lady from the Sea,” “An Enemy of 
Society,” “The Wild Duck,” and “The Young Mens 
League.” 

There is a deep and solemn tone running through all these dramas, 
as though the author were saying, like Hamlet, that the times were 
out of joint ; but he does not admit that it is his duty or mission to 
set them li ht. He takes things as he finds them, and in consequence 
his plays, without being immoial, may be characterized with propriety 
as unmoral. The plays should be read and studied, not merely because 
of their novelty but for the sake of the philosophy which they contain, 
and to grasp the ideas of an author who isundoubtedly a man of genius. 

It is not easy to classify these dramas, although they fall naturally 
into a single class. They differ materially from most modern plays, 
chiefly because there is no artificiality about them. They are hard, 
stern and even cruel in their portraiture of human passion ar.d human 
weakness. Ibsen has the courage of his convictions, and does not 
shrink from depicting what he believes to be the natural consequences 
of human conduct. 

NOTICES FROM THE PRESS. 

“ America has lagged a long way behind Europe in realizing that the 
Norwegian dramatist, Ibsen, is a genius. But having at last discovered 
that the rest of the world considers him a great writer, we seem to 
have determined to make up for being belated by now talking a great 
deal about him.” — The Nation. 

“There is a deal of power in Ibsen.” — N. Y. Mail and Express. 

“They are sombre and sad, but powerfully conceived and written* 
and decidedly worth reading.” — New York Sun. 

“ The interest of the Christian Union in Ibsen antidates the recent 
development of popular interest in this country and we have already said 
so much about him that it is unnecessary at this time to characterize 
him further.” — Christian Union. 

“ Few if any, male writers have given us so true or so high a concep- 
tion of womanhood as does Ibsen.” — Religio Philos. Journal. 

“To read him is the latest “craze” in the literary and semi-literary 
worlds.” — Public Opinion. 

“ What is called the Ibsen craze is still abroad.” — Com'l Gazette , 
Cincinnati. 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY, 

SUCCESSORS TO 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

142 TO 150 WORTH STREET, NEW YORK. 


WORKS OF 


RUDYARD KIPLING. 

flMaiti {Talcs from tbe Ibtlls 

PAPER, 50 CENTS. CLOTH, $1.00. 

Solfriers Cbree anfr otber Stories 

PAPER, 50 CENTS. CLOTH, $1.00. 

Cbe pbantom ’IRicfrsbaw anft otber Calee 

PAPER, 50 CENTS. CLOTH, $1.00. 

XLhc Ston? of tbc ( 3 aSsb£g 

PAPER, 25 CENTS. 

Ifnbian Calcs 

ONE VOLUME, I2MO., CLOTH, GILT TOP, 771 PAGES. PRICE, $1.50. 

This is the only edition of “ Plain Tales from the Hills, - ’ “ Soldiers 
Three and other stories,” “The Story of the Gadsbys,” “Phantom 
’Rickshaw, ’ issued in America with the sanction of the author. 

departmental ditties, JBarracfr TRoom JBallafts anft otber 

Werses 

ONE VOLUME, X2MO., CLOTH, GILT, $1.25. 

We have just issued under the authorization of Rudyard Kipling, a 
volume of poems, which contains “ Uepaitmental Ditties,” “Barrack 
Room Ballads,” and a collection of Kipling’s fugitive verses, which he 
has recently arranged for this volume. 1 his is the first edition of Kip- 
ling’s poetical writings issued in this country. The press universally praise 
his poetical work, the style of which is crisp, terse, witty and entertaining. 

IN PRESS BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 

TUnfter tbc deobars paper, 25 cents. 

ftbe OLlflbt tbat jfaflefr PAPER, 25 CENTS. 


EXTRACTS FROM THE PRESS. 

“ The masterly force and grasp of the author are plainly evident.” — 
N. O. States , 

“ The style of the writer is original, vigorous and clean cut.” — 

Chicago Herald. 

“ His story is always original, often startling, sometimes tragic to a 
degree .” — Christian Union. 

* * * Whose stories are told with an amiable egotism, infectious 
humor, and in a picturesque dialect that will send his name ringing down 
to posterity . — Lovisville Courier Journal. 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY, 

SUCCESSORS TO 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

142 TO 150 WORTH 6TREET, NEW YORK. 


t 

Soap 

for 1 

fAC E and HA NDS 

"Pans Exposition', 

l88g. 

Pears obtained the only gold medal awarded solely fof 
toilet SOAP in competition with all the WOrld. 

Highest possible distinction . * 



For sale in every city in the world. 


BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT WITH THE AUTHOR?. 


LOVELLS 


International Series 

OF 

MODERN NOVELS. 

THE NEW WORKS PUBLISHED IN THIS EXCELLENT 
SERIES, SEMI-WEEKLY, ARE ALWAYS THE FIRST 
ISSUED IN THIS COUNTRY. 

EVERY ISSUE IS PRINTED FROM NEW, CLEAR 
ELECTROTYPE PLATES, PRINTED ON FINE PAPER 
AND BOUND IN ATTRACTIVE PAPER COVERS OF 
ORIGINAL DESIGN. 


RECENT ISSUES 


114. Margaret Byng. By F. C. Philips 50 

115. For One and the World. By M. Betham-Edwards 10 

116. Princess Sunshine. By Mr. J. H. Riddell 50 

117. Sloane Square Scandal. By Annie Thomas 50 

118. The Night op the 3rd Ult. By H. F. Wood 50 

119. Quite Another Story. By Jean Ingelow 50 

120. Heart op Gold. By L T. Meade 50 

121. The Word and the Will. By James Payn .. . 50 

122. Dumps. By Mrs. Louisa Parr- 50 

123. The Black Box Murder 50 

124. The Great Mill St. Mystery. By Adeline 8 argeant 50 

125 Between Life and Death. By Frank Barrett 50 

326. Name and Fame. By Adeline Sargeant and Ewing Lester 50 

127. Dramas op Life. By George R. Sims .... 50 

128. Lover or Friend? By Rosa Nouchette Carey 50 

129. Famous or Infamous. By Bertha Thomas 50 

130. The House op Halliwell. By Mrs. Henry Wood ’. 50 

131. Ruffino. By Ouida 50 

132. Alas ! By Rhoda Broughton 50 

133. Basil and Annette. By B. L. Farjeon 50 

134. The Demoniac. By Walter Besant 50 

135. Brave Heart and True. By Florence Marry at 50 

136. Lady Maude’s Mania. By George Manville Fenn 50 

137. Marcia. By W. E. Norris 50 

138. Wormwood. By Marie Corelli 50 

139. The Honorable Miss. By L. T. Meade 50 

140. A Bitter Birthright. By Dora Russell 50 

141. A Double Knot. By George Manville Fenn 50 

142. A Hidden Foe By G. A. Henty 50 

143. Urith. By S. Baring-Gould 50 

144. Grayspoint. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell 50 



Any of the above sent postpaid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY, 

SUCCESSORS TO 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

142 TO 160 WORTH STREET. NEW YORK. 



COLGATE 


soaps & 

PERFUMES 


T HIS PICTURE, reproduced from a photograph, shows in the 
ground peasant women gathering Jasmine Flowers, and those in 
background, on ladders, picking Orange Flowers. The odors of these tv 
flowers are exceedingly rich and fragrant. They are used by the 
perfumer most successfully in combination with other odors, and when > 
used impart a refinement and delicacy to the bouquet which would 1 
impossible to attain without them. j f* 

It is the liberal use of these odors^&ncr tire skillfulmanner in whi( 
they are combined, that has helped to secure for Colgate & Co. the for 
most place among perfumers, and has created a demand from all parts 
the world for their soaps and perfumes, the favorite of which is 


CASHMERE BOUQUE1 
































































































































* 

































» 

















/ £ 

° ^P- ° V V* ^f, 

♦ - V J -l ^ - y 

o s X ^\ ^ \ I » n J t^ f ° * X ^ 0 N C ^ '-^ 4 * * ' ' <. ' 1 * K 





y> v 

o Cr 




•O fc * c ^ 

L> * : V 




') K 0 




* 

vV » « . ' *. 

V * X *'V ^ A o v s 

\ • $SS&M//Jj, z f * z ; > w- a - 

^ - A> t/> * T*,/ASN\ vT ® 


»* v % \W/ * 


s <f> ,r A -* •-» 0 * 

y ->* .\ * JR/ •? **. 

' ^ ^ „~ iM&x - "o o' ;<w 

* A -r . *«^3 

k V ^ 


*9°*. 





1 /• r 




^ ISA 


^ -* 

s > <\ O' 

* s # x v’ v L!s 

V *■ * 


v 


* 








\> * ' * 0 / 
* 


S \w * 

i x v s>~ '" % 

■*> .(V <* -V 




.^ v ^ 


* X 


,0^ C u ” - * 
L ' 




0 o X 


t* * 


0 N C 


= 0 



J, 00 ^ 









9 \ A 


VV S' ‘ /y C V 

i,‘, a. A* *'*$£&>'. V. 

•Jh° \ V - ' - ' * 

V J> 


v \c 

* A. . 0 * < ^Srtwl 

•"o o^ . 'V 
3 ^ ^ 










° l U $<) 

i\> ^ V ' •’ 

^ ^ /4 ^’ 

S s v ' \ y 0 * x lN 

* * S A\ ^ \ I B ^ >> 0 N 

•-> (y * ^ 


\ 

s v 


.S 

V 


Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 


* v 1 

3 c> 



w 


CL^ ^ 
v V 7 ^ 




1997 

BBKftEEPER 


PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES. INC. 
1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
J Cranberry Twp., PA 16066 
N (412)779-2111 


M ▼" 


>■ 




,\V ' 

_i v \ o rV * 

^ jN * jffitf/fcz. ? ^ < 

A >■ ; »&:> * '"o <$ : 

o <A -r . 

> \V <*• 


fi °* , 



A v 

o 0 ' 0 

% > 

^ ‘ c^» <v // i/4<r v 

^ *TTi* A 0 ' 

> 8 ' 0^ V s ^ ° ^ • "C 

* e ^ * ^*r~v^ '* ^ aV * 

V V ° ^ R - * 'V 

v sV % ,/ 'r>„ o J* c.^ ^ 

* ' ^ °* ••' '■• ^ ON ' ^ % 

^ j o>k* ^ ^r*s' s \ a 

o rv V f o N t. # -Vo AV <■ v 

« ^ 




"V A C*V * 

c S /\ ^ * 

, * * 1 8 « 

J ° v X „. ■* '-> 



0 _ « 


*_ V aV * r 

t/ 1 ,^v 
y>> 


_ 


<\ 


* S5 -% o 

* '<&, . w ,, A 
C- ✓ , * a* ri* *- ^ „0 

°^P ^ -0 M 0 ^ ^ I I 1 * A 0 

C* v v- 0 /• > S? S s 

^ ^ .V *■ - 62. J* . V (i> £ A > M 

<_ - .V - S-y- V; K '% ° "%• ^ J 

y * v’ % %■ ". iSp * <&* '\ \ 

./%- * V > A .^./V- 

< o 










